all the lonely people
by lucasjamesfriar
Summary: She's on a long journey back to her roots; he has no intention of returning. "Home" is both the departure and the destination, but neither Riley nor Lucas are sure they know what it actually means. But when fate brings them together on the open road, both of them come to realize that perhaps the destination doesn't matter so much - and that maybe home isn't some place, but someone.
1. prologue ( riley )

As Riley loads the last box into the back of her hatchback and stares at her entire life packed up before her, she has to wonder to herself if she really is insane.

She could've just had her stuff shipped. She could've just taken a direct flight back to New York, had her stuff delivered within the next week, and made the whole journey quite sweet and simple. No hassle, no stress, from one coast to the other in record time.

All of this in retrospect. She _could've._ But she didn't.

She slams the back of the car shut, exhaling a deep sigh and hopping back onto the curb.

Jade waits by the hood, twisting her fingers together nervously and looking at the hunk of junk apprehensively. Her fidgeting drifts to the end of her braid hanging off her shoulder, twirling it. "Are you sure you want to do this, Riles? Cross-country is a long trip to take all by yourself."

Standing in front of her for what may be the final time, Riley suddenly realizes how great of a roommate Jade Beamon actually was. She wasn't particularly engaging or outgoing, nothing extraordinary, but then, in her deepest heart of hearts Riley knows she isn't either. But she was genuine, and kind, and didn't bring friends over at late hours or anything like the stunts her past roommates pulled. It's a shame she only got to room with her for senior year—for all intents and purposes, Jade's probably the closest thing she has to a true friend from her four years at UC Riverside.

And it's just now as she's facing her, about to take off on her own, that she realizes maybe she'll really miss her.

Riley steps forward and holds out her arms for a hug, grateful when Jade eagerly meets her halfway. They embrace, holding each other tightly for a few seconds.

"I'll be okay," Riley assures her into her shoulder, pulling away first. She gives her an optimistic smile. "This is something I have to do. And I'm excited anyway, it would be a shame to chicken out now."

"Jeez, 'something you have to do.' What a writer thing to say," Jade jokes. It's not the first crack she's made at Riley's choice of major in their couple of years of friendship. Considering she's a biology major and not exactly in tune with her creative side, she finds Riley's theatrics more than amusing.

Riley backs off a bit, holding out her arms and grinning. "Well, that's that then."

"Okay. Text me when you get back. Or at some point, just so I know you're not dead on the side of the road. Okay?"

"Will do," Riley agrees, pulling open the driver's side door. She hovers outside the car, propping her elbow on the window frame. "Have fun at Baylor, okay? Don't let grad school overwhelm you."

"Well, too late for that." Jade clasps her hands together sheepishly, giving her a shy smile.

Riley climbs into the car and closes the door behind her, taking in her surroundings. She holds her hands over the wheel uncertainly, inhaling deeply and letting the breath out calmly through her nose. She mentally reminds herself to keep her cool.

"I can do this," she mutters, buckling her seatbelt and reaching up to adjust her mirrors. "I can do this."

She catches a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, a little caught off guard at how tired she looks. Absorbing her disheveled state, realizing how disconnected from herself she feels, she remembers why she wanted to take this road trip in the first place. Because when she looks in the mirror she sees someone she doesn't recognize, and it's not because she's lost herself. It's because when she thinks about it—really, truly thinks about it—she discovers maybe she never knew herself to begin with.

That's what this trip is about. Finding Riley Matthews. Finding herself.

She puts the key in the ignition, immediately starting her carefully curated road trip playlist and staring out at the road ahead of her. Many miles from New York. Many chances to discover herself.

Jade crosses her arms, giving her a smile as she pulls away from the curb. Riley offers her one last wave before focusing on the dashboard, making the first dent in the long, winding road back home. She doesn't know what it's going to be like to get back there—with her parents and her degree and her lack of a plan—but she'll worry about it when she arrives.

For now, it's just her and her playlist and the open road waiting for her.


	2. the sundance strip ( lucas )

For all the years he's been gone, Lucas resents the small part of him that lights up when he finds himself back on Austin soil.

Well, not exactly Austin—it's been far too long since he set foot in the actual city, and he doesn't have any intention of doing so any time soon. But the city itself was never where he came from anyway. It's those pocket towns around it, the farmlands and cheap dives and dusty roads. It's anything but glamorous, but it was all he knew, so no matter how far away he travels or many miles his feet stamp into the road, there's always that small part of him that is happy to be back.

He seriously resents it.

Squinting in the sun, he looks both ways and takes a deep breath before darting across the road. He doesn't know why he bothers to look both ways—cars never come this far off the road unless they're lost or desperate for gas. No one of an otherwise right mind would take the time to stop in the middle of nowhere, and he can't blame them.

The Sundance strip, as he and his friends used to call it growing up, is far less exciting than the name would imply. It has the necessary commodities to be labeled a local hangout for the teenage population of the farm suburbs—a diner, a bowling alley, a movie theater. A bar for them to attempt to sneak into and a McDonalds to seek refuge in when the former plan fails. It's what they liked to consider their Sunset Strip, as if they were as fascinating as Southern California.

Predictably, that was untrue.

Lucas approaches the back of the strip, scaling the chain-link fence blocking it off from the road and hoisting himself over the top. The drop from the top is a little jarring, but nothing he hasn't done before. Once he's shaken off the daze, he's well on his way to Chubbie's diner.

Shrugging off his backpack, he deposits it by the back door and waits patiently until one of the chefs ducks out for their usual smoke break. He catches the door to the kitchen before it closes, slipping inside as inconspicuously as possible.

It's a little much to be surrounded by so many people all the sudden, but he's pretty good at going unnoticed. He skates his way around the diner staff, all of them dressed somewhat similarly to him and far too engrossed in their business to pay him any attention.

The freshly cooked food is a much greater distraction. It takes every bit of will power in him not to take a detour and have some for himself, but he manages. He's already seen how much trouble a little bit of foraging can cause, and besides, he's there for a very specific reason. He's not going to create any trouble for himself he doesn't need.

Finally emerging from the kitchen and finding himself behind the back counter, he spots who he's looking for waiting on a table right by the front entrance. As he turns around Lucas ducks down and walks around the other side of the counter, rising to his feet and sauntering up as if he just walked in the door like any other customer.

"Excuse me," he says pointedly to the server, trying his best to hold back his grin. "But you wouldn't happen to know whether or not this place has some dork named Asher Garcia working behind the counter, would you?"

Asher turns around, blinking at Lucas for half a second before his face lights up with recognition.

"Oh my God!"

It takes even less time for him to round the counter again, barreling Lucas with a hug. His embrace is tight and Lucas has half a mind to fake suffocation and collapse, but he knows the strength of the hug is a good thing. Considering he doesn't get very many, he figures he should enjoy it. So he returns the embrace.

While Asher gets him situated at the counter and gets a meal going for him, Lucas finds himself marveling over how little his friend has changed in three or so years. Same short-cropped strawberry blonde hair, same rosy cheeks, same slight build and bony elbows that probably do him a lot of good fighting through the kitchen back there.

Lucas has no idea whether or not he's changed. He doesn't spend a lot of time looking in the mirror.

When Asher slides the grilled cheese across the counter at him, Lucas has to resist the urge to get up and hug him again. "You know me so well."

"Only been friends our entire lives," he says offhandedly, leaning forward on his elbows across the counter. He watches in silence as Lucas wolfs down the food, the ambient noise of the other patrons enough to fill the gap in conversation. "So, you staying this time around?"

Lucas shakes his head, waiting until he swallows to speak again. "Just passing through."

"And going where?"

"Don't know." He shrugs, offering him a charming smile. "Any way the wind blows, as they say."

Asher doesn't look amused. "Come on, Lucas. You've been doing this drifter thing for like, five years now. Isn't it time to give it up? Don't you want to come home?"

"Don't have one," Lucas refutes matter-of-factly.

He's surprised to see the disappointed expression on Asher's face. The moment is interrupted before he can offer consolation, another familiar face rounding the counter and catching sight of him.

"Well, look who it is."

"What are you doing here?" Vanessa says with a sneer, curly dark hair pulled out of her face and wearing an apron identical to Asher's. She places her hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you supposed to be out on the side of the road somewhere?"

Lucas offers another smirk. "This doesn't count as the side of the road?"

"I meant like, wasting away. Maybe in a ditch. Roadkill."

Asher gives her an offended look, but Lucas isn't nearly as fazed. He fakes hurt, patting his chest and shaking his head. "Harsh, Nessie. Very harsh."

She rolls her eyes. "Get a job."

Lucas winks at her as she stalks away, Asher biting his lip and waiting to speak again until she's out of earshot. "It's okay. She's just pissy because she had that crush on you in high school and then you dipped before she could do anything about it."

"Nah." He watches her disappear back into the kitchen, laughing with another waitress. "She was always Zay's girl. She was always into him, even if she wouldn't admit it."

"Well, that's true enough. They're still playing that game to this day, if I'm not mistaken."

"I believe it." There's a long pause as Lucas hesitates, uncertain if he wants to broach the subject or not. "How is Zay? Still the same?"

Asher takes a French fry from the plate, twirling it in his fingers. After a long moment, he shrugs. "I haven't talked to him in a really long time. Just don't see much of each other, I guess." He takes a bite of the fry, avoiding eye contact. "Probably have better luck with Vanessa."

"Yeah, better not push my luck on that one."

"All I know is that he's working at the precinct, so you'd do best not to see him either. He and Wyatt are both gunning for a promotion, since that's all there is to do in this Cowtown. Get a job and work at it until you die."

Lucas takes the final bite of his grilled cheese, wiping his hands clean and raising his eyebrows. "Then I'm not missing out on much, am I?"

"It's all anyone's talking about, who Yancy is gonna bump up to be his right-hand man." Asher pauses, eyeing him curiously. "That and Grace's divorce."

Lucas stares down at his plate, poking at the remaining potatoes but suddenly not very interested in eating them. "Got finalized, then, I'm guessing?"

"Reckon it would be," Asher admits, "If Kenneth hadn't disappeared. Been gone a month or so, right when they were supposed to sign the papers."

Lucas suddenly finds himself sick to his stomach. He shakes his head, pushing the plate away from him and tearing at a hangnail on his thumb. He knew the subject of his parents was bound to come up, especially with Asher leading the conversation—but this was a change of events he wasn't expecting. They'd never been the perfect family, very far from it, but the idea of Kenneth just disappearing seems drastic even for him.

But then, how can he talk? He's no better.

"It's so ugly. Way he treats your mama. He doesn't want to be around anymore, you'd think he'd just let it go. But for some reason it's like he doesn't want her to have freedom of her own regardless. Whether he's around or not, he still wants her to be tied down. And you know how people are 'round here, no one is going to court her if they think she's still taken. Just plain ugly."

"He's never been anything but," Lucas mutters. Then he forces himself to shake it off, plastering on a smile and shrugging. "But hey, he's gone. Sure she's better off. She's probably staying with Pappy Joe, he'll take good care of her."

Asher blinks at him. "No, she's not."

"No, I'm serious," Lucas declares, crossing his arms on the table. "I know he's my dad's dad and everything, but he really loves Grace. He'd take her in no sweat, that much I know."

"She's not with Pappy Joe."

He rolls his eyes. "Okay, Asher, like you know everything about my family."

"Lucas," Asher says, licking his lips and squinting slightly. "Pappy Joe passed away."

He's pretty sure he didn't hear him right. He couldn't have heard him right. When he forces himself to speak, his voice comes out quieter than he would prefer. "What?"

"Yeah. Heart attack just a couple weeks ago. I would've told you, but…"

Lucas figures this is what having a heart attack must feel like—how tight his chest feels and how clammy his hands are. He's trying to process the reality of Asher's words, but he can't get his brain to function properly. There's a dull ache in the back of his throat and a lump that won't go away no matter how hard he swallows.

For as long as he can remember, Pappy Joe has always been there. Last he knew, he was perfectly fine. How could it be that someone who's there one second, alive and well in your memory is suddenly wiped from existence? How could it possibly be that people just leave?

Pappy Joe. Kenneth. And him, first of all of them.

Guess it runs in the family.

"I'm sorry," Asher says sympathetically, reaching forward and tentatively patting the back of his hand.

Lucas pulls away from the touch on instinct, locking his fingers together on his lap instead. "It's fine. I haven't seen him in years."

"He was your grandpa."

"I'm fine," Lucas insists, clearing his throat and managing a smile. He shrugs. "Life, right?"

Asher doesn't look convinced. It's another one of those things that Lucas resents, one of those things that doesn't change no matter how many years go by—Asher can see right through him, regardless of the time that's passed.

"Well, in any case, you should give your mama a call. Figure she'd appreciate the company."

Lucas snorts. He keeps his eyes on his fingers, picking at his nails. "Bet I'm the last person she wants to hear from right now."

"That's not true."

"Whatever." He shakes his head, shrugging off the melancholy. He's not held back by these feelings—he's not his mother, tied down to this place forever. "I'm not here to stay. Wouldn't have much time for a visit anyway."

"Then what are you here for?"

"You know what I come back for," Lucas states flatly, giving him a look. "Best place to get grilled cheese for miles."

Asher rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that's it. Give me one second."

He disappears back into the kitchen, leaving Lucas to stew in the remnants of their conversation by himself.

Glancing around the diner, it surprises him how many faces he doesn't recognize. At a table in the corner, a family with two little kids finishes up a late brunch. The oldest of the two can't be any older than five.

Although he's always proclaimed it, for the first time, Lucas suddenly feels as vagrant as his word. That kid has known this town for as long as he's been away. To that little kid, this diner is his turf. The Sundance strip is his now, and he's simply the stranger passing through.

He doesn't belong here. He doesn't belong anywhere.

Asher snaps him out of his own head when he reappears, sliding a wad of cash across the counter at him. "That's what I put aside last couple years. In case you showed up again."

"Much appreciated." Lucas breaks into a grin, leaning forward to pat his shoulder. "Always count on you. You never let me down."

"Well, when you been friends your entire life," he says sheepishly. He pauses as Lucas counts the bills, eyeing the money anxiously. "Look, just do me a favor."

"Name it."

"Call your mama. At least think about it."

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?" Lucas sighs, stuffing the money in his jeans pocket. "I don't have her number."

"I can get it to you."

"I don't have a phone."

"You know how to use public phones. You could even borrow mine, if you call her now."

"Yeah, that's not happening."

"Look, would you just—," Asher starts, biting his tongue and searching the counter in frustration. He grabs a napkin from the dispenser and pulls the pen out from behind his ear, pressing the cloth into the countertop as he jots ten digits down as quickly as possible. "Take this. And think about it."

Lucas takes the napkin from him, squinting at it critically. "How the hell do you know my mama's number off the top of your head?"

"Just take it and the cash and think about it. Can you do that for me?" Asher waits for him to meet his eyes, gazing at him pleadingly. "It's up to you whether you do so or not."

Lucas hesitates, mouth half-open with a reply. He wants to agree for his friend's sake, but something in him won't let the words come out. He doesn't know what it is—stubbornness, pride, fear—but it makes the deal impossible to verbalize.

He's saved from answering as Vanessa slides up to the counter again, leaning forward and speaking in a harsh whisper. "You need to get out of here."

"Look, Nessie, I know you're not fond of me. But this is coming on a little strong, don't you think?"

"Not because of that," she hisses, tossing an urgent look to Asher. "Yancy's cruiser just pulled up in front. He's going to be coming in any minute. You need to leave. Now."

Asher glances over his shoulder, out the main entrance. His eyes widen.

Lucas can tell from his expression that he's in trouble. "Oh, shit."

"Come on, come on!"

Lucas hops off the stool, stuffing the napkin into his pocket and diving behind the counter just as the doorbell jingles with a new customer entering the premises. Vanessa gestures him back towards the kitchen, walking behind him and blocking him from view as best as she can considering his sizable height advantage over her.

The last thing Lucas hears from Asher is a chipper greeting towards their local sheriff before the kitchen door closes behind him, separating them again without so much as a goodbye. No idea when they'll get to see each other again.

As sentimental as Lucas would like to be, he knows he doesn't have the time. He tears away from Vanessa without so much as a thank you, skirting his way around the workers the same way he came in. When he bursts into the sunlight in the back alley, he grabs his backpack and slings it onto his shoulders, making a beeline for the fence and scaling it without a second thought.

His landing is much rougher than before—if it can count as a landing at all. He stumbles halfway over the top and careens downward, sprawling into the dirt on the other side.

He doesn't even have the time to curse properly, scrambling to his feet with a wince. He's covered in dirt and his knee is stinging in a way that he's reluctant to investigate, but it's a problem that'll have to wait.

Thankful that he knows his way around, Lucas heads across the road and down the main street towards the trailer parks. If he can disappear there, he'll be able to hide out until Yancy heads back to the station—but he's got to get there first. And there's a lot of Sundance strip to cut through.

Glancing over his shoulder and seeing the sleek police cruiser in the parking lot of the diner is an alarming sight. It's hard to miss, glossy and sleek against the rest of the junk heaps people drive around these neighborhoods. Even the pick-up truck he drove in high school was a pile of rust.

He's crossing into the convenience store parking lot when he puts his focus back in front of him, just in time for him to ram into someone and almost lose his footing entirely.

"Oh my God!"

Lucas's hands reach out instinctively to catch the victim before she stumbles, stabilizing her upright and keeping her from dropping her items. He doesn't even bother to get a good look at her, intent on moving forward when to his great disdain, she starts a conversation.

"Sorry about that, I'm a klutz."

He tries to sidestep her, glancing over her head and attempting to plan his escape route. He can feel the clock ticking away. Asher can only buy him so much time. "It's okay. No worries."

"I didn't even see you. You practically came out of nowhere," she says, her voice betraying a bit of a defensive tone at his dismissal. She thwarts his attempts to step around her, examining him curiously and trying to get him to look at her. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Fine," he assures her. He glances over his shoulder, the cruiser still gleaming brightly in the parking lot behind him. He can feel his heart pounding in his fingertips.

"Do you need a ride?"

This manages to catch his attention. He whips around to face her again, finally getting an actual look at the girl he nearly ran over. "Huh?"

It's obvious to him that she's not from the neighborhood—she's dressed far too nicely. Despite the casual nature of her jean shorts and t-shirt, they're too new. Hardly worn from wear. Her wavy, dark hair is pulled back out of her face in a messy ponytail that's slightly too neat to be genuinely haphazard.

But what really piques his interest are her eyes. They're brown, russet basically, and he doesn't think he's ever met someone whose eyes are so naturally wide. Full of curiosity, inherently naïve, but genuine. When she locks eyes with him and poses the question again, there's not a hint of hesitation in the offer.

"Do you need a ride?"

Lucas hesitates, licking his lips and glancing over his shoulder again. He figures he shouldn't—there's something innately uncouth about accepting kindness from a young lady seemingly traveling alone—but the door to the diner opening kicks him into high gear and throws all his better judgment out the window.

"Yeah. Yeah, that would be great. Where's your car?"

The girl leads the way across the parking lot, not picking up on his nerves as they make their way to a dated dark green hatchback. He hesitates with his hand over the door handle, squinting into the sun as he spies Sheriff Yancy emerge from the diner with a familiar face at his side.

It's weird to think that maybe if things had been different, if he hadn't left all those years ago, he and Zay Babineaux wouldn't be standing miles apart, glancing at one another from a distance. He'd know what was going on with him, and Vanessa, and Asher. He'd be there for his own grandfather's funeral.

But then he remembers how suffocating it was. He remembers the fights and the scraping to get by and the blood on his knuckles. Sure, living on the road isn't glamorous. Sometimes he sleeps on the ground. Sometimes he bends the rules just to eat for the day. But at least he's his own person.

At least he's free.

"We going, or what?"

Her chipper tone pulls him out of his own head. He nods, climbing into the passenger seat and closing the door behind him.

When she pulls out of the parking lot and heads towards the interstate, leaving the Sundance strip behind them, he exhales a sigh of relief. The girl glances at him from the driver's seat, drawing her attention from the road momentarily to give him a light smile.

He decides he won't hang around long. This is nothing special—just his ticket out of town once again and another hitchhike on his list of dozens. He'll just have her drive him out of Austin, then they'll part ways and nothing will come of it. Nothing to comment on. Nothing to take advantage of.

Just another day on the road, belonging nowhere.


	3. strangers ( riley )

Riley thought she had prepared herself.

Her family used to take road trips every summer to visit her uncle in D.C. and her grandparents in Philadelphia, so she knew the routine like the back of her hand. Always know your routes ahead of time. Keep spare food in the trunk just in case. Good music was a crucial aspect as well. Never let your gas meter dip below ten percent, and make sure your phone is fully charged should, God forbid, something happen.

Although California to New York was much grander than anything she had driven before, she figured all it took was to amplify the degree of preparation. She'd made her playlists, packed her trunk, and mapped out her route in permanent ink on the atlas in her glove compartment. Despite the massive distance she was covering, Riley was absolutely equipped to handle anything the open road threw her way.

What she didn't anticipate was the loneliness.

Maybe it was because all of her previous road trips had been in the company of her family, even more enjoyable when Auggie came into the picture and she had a backseat buddy to chatter with on the way. Maybe it was because she was destined to overlook something, as her anxiety constantly liked to remind her.

For all intents and purposes, however, the way it hits her is confusing. Because she feels as though she's spent her entire life operating alone, so it shouldn't be anything new. If anything, this should be the one factor she's overwhelmingly prepared for.

But it takes its toll on her anyway. It drains her, compounding with her driving fatigue into full-on exhaustion. By the time she makes it to Texas, California far in the dust behind her, she feels as though she could lay in the road and disappear into the asphalt. Although she had originally planned a visit through Austin's city center she finds herself too tired to fathom navigating a metropolis, opting instead for the back roads to get her through the heart of the second largest state in the U.S.

As she pulls into the drive way of a rinky-dink gas station in what feels like the middle of nowhere, she can't help but remember reading that Texas is referred to as the Lone Star state. Considering her mood, she decides she fits right in.

Killing the engine, she takes a deep breath and exhales it with a sigh, knocking her head back against the headrest. She searches deep inside her for the motivation that pushed her into her hatchback in the first place, whatever deep internal drive told her to pursue this cross country endeavor. The one her father told her was insane and her mother claimed she'd give up on within two days.

Wherever that initial inspiration rests, she's having trouble accessing it.

"Blame it on the fatigue," she grumbles to herself, pushing open the door and stepping out into the summer heat.

After spending so much time cooped up in her air-conditioned car, it's a bit of a shock to stand in the sticky humidity of Texas's midsummer haze. She's regretting leaving her sunglasses in the glove compartment as she squints in the sunlight, relentlessly beating down on the small town around her.

Riley makes a point of trying to find the beauty in every place she visits, but even she has to admit there's not a lot to say about the one she pulled into this time around. Mostly because there's barely much to it as it is—it's essentially one long dirt road, a few establishments propped up on the sides and a few neighborhoods tucked away behind them just out of sight. If it weren't for the rusty cars pulled up in front of the diner and bar sitting opposite each other on the street, Riley would've assumed it was a ghost town.

Tearing her eyes away from the alluring wash of beige and dust the town seems to be drowning in, she spins around and heads towards the convenience store in front of her.

The only thing to greet her as she opens the door and steps into the building is the tiny clang of the bell connected to the jamb. The cashier doesn't look up from her magazine, chewing idly on what Riley hopes, for her sake, is bubblegum. Even more disappointingly, there doesn't seem to be any cool air, the only source of relief coming from the small rotary fan behind the counter.

Riley wants to find the beauty in it. She does. But boy, if this town doesn't make it difficult.

She meanders her way around the aisles for a spell, passing by a couple of older men wearing surprisingly large belt buckles and cowboy hats. She supposes the actual Western cowboy experience is something charming worth admiring, until the two of them glance up from the car equipment they're examining and shoot her a suspicious glare. The charm practically evaporates, and she averts her gaze as she disappears into another aisle.

Grabbing a chilled water from the refrigerator, Riley jumps as a scuffle ensues behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she watches as a trio of young boys laugh with each other and shove one another around while shopping for their food. They look about as dusty as the town itself, no older than eleven or twelve and in desperate need of haircuts.

She finds herself a bit perturbed by their unruly behavior, before she reminds herself not to judge a book by its cover. They're not causing her any trouble, and she's the stranger in their territory after all. If anything, she should be grateful she grew up where she did and with as much opportunity as she did. Her parents always seemed to have everything together, and New York City was full of never-ending possibilities and excitement.

If she had grown up in a place like this, who knows who she would be. What she would be like. She already feels as though she's wasting the opportunities she's been granted, she can't imagine how pathetic she'd be if she'd never had any to begin with.

The girl behind the counter rings her up without comment, and before she knows it Riley is back in the sunlight, facing another long session of isolation in her faded green VW hatchback.

She gives herself a few moments of reprieve, stretching her legs as she paces the sidewalk in front of her car. She takes a long sip of her water, inhaling deeply and trying to surge some energy back into her life. Desperate to breathe some enthusiasm back into what she had been so sure was something she needed to do.

She paces to the end of the street corner, squinting at the diner across the way before turning away and pulling out her phone. She thinks about calling Jade, just to hear someone else's voice. For a terrifyingly weak moment, she debates calling her mother and giving up, allowing her to be right about her and buy her a plane ticket home. Falling back into the role of obedient daughter, the girl she's always been, never again pushing herself to be something more.

For that brief second, her finger hovers over the call button. Then she's knocked out of it, literally, by someone ramming right into her from behind.

She whips around as she stumbles, the stranger catching her arms before she can collapse entirely. Considering her lack of energy, it wouldn't be too hard to send her toppling over. Her first assumption is that one of those rowdy middle schoolers pushed the other too hard and she's taking the brunt of it, but when she lifts her eyes to glare at her assailant she finds her assumptions very, very wrong.

He's far too tall to be a middle schooler, that's for sure, but the thing that really catches her attention are his eyes. They're a shade of green she doesn't think she's ever actually seen in person before. All she can think about is how her aunt used to say you could absorb the entire essence of someone's soul by looking into their eyes and how her father used to follow up by claiming that was bullshit.

But something about the intensity in his expression makes her feel like maybe her aunt was right. Some kind of feeling surges through her, and even though he's not paying her any attention with his gaze looking past her, she feels like she should say something.

Naturally, her apologetic nature speaks for itself. "Sorry about that, I'm a klutz."

"It's okay, no worries," he says offhandedly, already attempting to move past her.

She figures she should just let him go, no harm no foul, but something about that expression is screaming at her to pay attention. There's something about the situation that isn't sitting right, itching at her despite his continued assurances that he's fine and it was an accident and neither of them has any more to say on the matter.

When he anxiously glances over his shoulder behind them, finally it hits her. Fear. For whatever reason, he's scared, and it's written all over his face.

She's not sure what part of her speaks next—her natural inclination to help others where she can, or her curiosity that seems to be breathing new life into her cross country endeavor. Selfless or selfish, she doesn't think she'll ever know, but the words come out loud and clear regardless.

"Do you need a ride?"

* * *

For all the initial anticipation of having a new car companion, the ride itself is devastatingly quiet.

Riley doesn't know what she was expecting. What did she think was going to happen—she'd let some stranger into her car and suddenly she'd have a new best friend? She's barely ever had a best friend to begin with. Imagining that picking up a dusty guy on the side of the road was magically going to change that was just wishful thinking.

Still, the prospect of someone completely new in the passenger seat next to her offers a whole new realm of potential to keeping this road trip interesting. At least, she's less inclined to call it quits while it lasts.

She attempts to catch glances at him out of the corner of her eye, but focusing on the road is an important deterrent from doing so effectively.

He hasn't said a word since they got into the car, keeping to himself as much as possible and definitely not looking in her direction. He keeps his eyes averted out the window or occasionally over his shoulder, continuously checking for whatever had him so spooked back at the street corner.

Riley knows she should be wary. Her mother told her enough times not to talk to strangers as any perfect parent should, let alone not to invite one into her car. She is fully aware of how stupid this could turn out to be on her part and how she should keep her wits about her, regardless of what she decides to do next.

But with him chewing nervously on his thumbnail and hugging his backpack on his lap, it's hard to find him all that intimidating.

"Feel free to adjust anything," she says softly.

He turns his head from looking over his shoulder to glance at her. "Huh?"

"Like, the air and stuff," she clarifies, gesturing vaguely to the console between them. His eyes shift to the dials as she clears her throat, trying to send more confidence into her tone. As the driver of the vehicle, she figures she should articulate she knows she holds the power in this dynamic. Just in case he gets any ideas. "Radio, AC, all that stuff. You're welcome to adjust it, if you'd like."

"Oh." He hesitates, before shifting slightly and wrapping his arms back around his bags. "I'm okay, thanks."

She nods, attempting to get a read on him from such a brief conversation. All she can register is the faint Southern drawl to his already timid voice and the fact that the car is going to once again fade into uncomfortable silence unless she keeps the exchange going.

"Where am I taking you, exactly?" She hesitates, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. "I mean, no rush or anything. But I figure you've got somewhere to go—,"

"Right," he cuts her off, pausing again before settling into a slouch. Trying to make himself smaller. "Just the bus station."

"Bus station?"

"Yeah. There's one just outside Austin city limits. That should be fine."

Riley spends a minute piecing together the limited information she has about him, trying to figure out how going to a bus station is the best venue for him. He doesn't look like he's planning a trip—all he's got is that backpack, and it can't hold all that much from the looks of it. "Are you sure? I don't mind driving a little further—,"

"It's fine, really," he assures her, continuing to avoid eye contact. "I'm taking up enough of your time."

She decides he has no idea how grateful she is for the company, even if she's uncertain about whether or not he's going to turn around and kill her at any minute. Her common sense is coupling with her anxiety to make for a compelling combination of doubt, but she encourages herself not to jump to conclusions. So far he's been nothing but polite, and she'll take that over dead silence for another fifty miles.

"You know," she says slowly, "It would be nice to be able to put a name to the face taking up so much of my time."

After a second, he locks eyes with her for a brief moment before she has to focus back on the road.

He relaxes slightly. "Lucas."

"Lucas," she says, trying it out for the first time. It seems to fit him perfectly, to the point that she's surprised she couldn't just sense that was his name. "I love it."

He raises an eyebrow.

"I just mean, it suits you very well. I don't know what comes out of my mouth half the time. But I promise I mean well." Desperate to change the subject, she powers on. "I'm Riley."

To her relief, his cool demeanor seems to crack a little at her rambling. He smiles just slightly, alleviating some of the tension in his features. She realizes it's probably out of amusement at her hysterics rather than any sense of fondness, but either way is fine.

Doesn't matter if they're laughing with you or at you as long as they're happy. That's what her uncle used to say, and it's stuck with her for better or worse.

"Nice," he says finally, looking away from her again and squinting out the dashboard window. Before she can grasp at straws for something else to say he continues the conversation, a huge weight lifting off her shoulders. "Can I ask you a question?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't," she exhales, smiling. Grateful to avoid the suffocating silence for a little bit longer with him around.

"Why were you in Texas?"

She hesitates, cocking her head to the side. "What makes you think I'm not from there? What makes you assume I'm just passing through?"

"Trust me, I can tell."

"Well, then." Riley huffs in fake offense, happy to see another amused smile cross his features. "You got me."

"It's not a bad thing, believe me," Lucas says vaguely, tapping his fingers absentmindedly against his backpack. "But mostly, if you were from the Sundance strip I would've known you. It's not a big place."

"Sundance strip?"

He pauses, realizing his own choice of words. He laughs in spite of himself, shrugging. "Just what we called it growing up. Another sign you're not from around here."

"Must be nice, though," she offers. "Small town. Everybody knowing everybody. Tight-knit community and all that."

The smile fades from his face. He's back to looking out the window, seeming much farther away than the passenger seat. "Maybe so."

She searches for something else to say, ultimately coming up short. Whatever nerve she struck, it's clear there's no easy way to turn it back around. Even with a complete stranger, somehow she manages to pull the wrong brick and send the entire Jenga tower tumbling down.

Maybe, she wonders to herself, there's a good reason she's usually alone.

* * *

Riley pulls into the parking lot outside the bus station as promised, putting the car in park and exhaling. "Well, here we are."

"Here we are," Lucas agrees blankly, hesitating as he stares up at the station for a long moment. Then he seems to shake himself out of it, grabbing his backpack and exiting the car without another word.

She watches him go for a moment before she finds herself unbuckling her seatbelt, climbing out after him. Regardless of how briefly they knew each other, it seems weird to be letting him go off on his own without so much as a goodbye.

Luckily, she doesn't have to chase him very far. He's only stepped up onto the curb, staring at the board listing departures. From the look on his face and the crinkle between his eyebrows, he doesn't seem very certain as to which direction he's going in.

"Where are you headed?"

Hearing her voice again seems to surprise him. He glances at her, blinking. "Uh, not sure."

"You're not sure?"

"I mean, I'm sure," he says quickly, attempting to cover his own tracks. Despite the firmness of his tone, the uncertainty in his eyes gives him away. She wonders if he has any idea how much his eyes speak for him. "Just have to figure out the logistics and everything."

"Right." Silence settles between them. Riley clasps her hands together as Lucas adjusts his backpack on his shoulder. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Lucas."

He nods, clearing his throat. "Same to you. Thanks for the ride."

"Of course. It was my pleasure."

There's not much else to say. Lucas offers her another tight smile before swiveling away from her and starting to head towards the terminal.

Riley finds herself unable to look away, watching him walk away and feeling rooted to the spot. Something in her is nagging at her, pushing her not to let him slip away so easily. She knows it has to be the loneliness talking, but there's something about him in particular that feels special. She doesn't believe in coincidence, and what are the odds that this perfectly polite stranger who had many opportune moments to kill her and steal her belongings in the last hour but did not would stumble into her just when she was looking for some interesting company?

Besides, even more than that, it's something about those green eyes. She wants to learn whatever else they're going to reveal to her before they part ways forever.

"Lucas!"

He straightens up at the call of his name, only feet away from the door to the terminal. When he turns around and sees her jogging towards him he raises his eyebrows, obviously confused.

"You absolutely positive you have to go now?" She catches her breath, scrambling to find the best way to articulate her thoughts without scaring him off. His eyes are wide as she gestures vaguely while searching for the words, evidently trying to figure her out with the same amount of wariness she initially had of him. "I only ask because if you don't, well, I've got a long way to go and it might be nice to have someone a little more familiar with the Texas terrain along for the ride."

He examines her curiously. "I've already troubled you enough."

"You're not trouble," she says, quickly correcting herself. "I mean, it's no trouble. Believe me, journey's a lot more fun with someone to share it with. Or keep me awake, at least. And I'm going to be going a lot of different places, it would be nice to have someone who's seen more of it than I have."

Lucas's expression shifts to suspicious. He narrows his eyes. "I haven't. I haven't left Texas."

"Even better," Riley declares. She makes a mental note of this fact, intent to store it away for a later conversation. But it's one more fact she knows about him than before, which makes her think she's on the right track. It's as good a sign as any. "Then you stand to gain something from this as well."

Although he still seems hesitant, she can practically see the gears grinding in his head. Weighing the pros and cons of spending another second with her and her insanity.

"It'll be a no pressure thing," she promises, hoping she doesn't sound as desperate as she feels. She'd gone so long on the road alone, she'd forgotten how nice it was to have a companion. Now, she doesn't think she could survive the rest of the trip with nothing but her thoughts. "You can go whenever you want, and I won't stop you."

Lucas glances over his shoulder at the bus terminal behind him. Riley chews on her lip, racking her brains for the right thing to say.

"I know you have places to be. I'm sure wherever you have to be is anxiously anticipating your arrival."

This seems to get his attention. He shifts his gaze back to her, meeting her eyes.

"But I'm in no rush to get to my destination, and I'm thinking there's a whole lot left to see out here on the open road. Maybe some things you'd like to see too. And it's really nice to have someone to talk to."

She maintains his gaze, holding her breath and anxiously balling her hands into fists. Waiting nervously for whatever the universe decides happens next.

"Okay," Lucas relents.

A rush of adrenaline runs through her. She perks up, unable to help the smile that blooms across her face. "Okay? You'll come?"

"Yeah. Not for long," he clarifies, mirroring her own smile back to her, if in a more muted fashion. "Just while I figure out where I'm going."

She tilts her head, teasing. "Oh, but I thought you knew where you going?"

"You know, on second thought—,"

Riley laughs, feeling giddier than she has for the last week. In some ways, she feels lighter than she has for years. She reaches forward and tugs lightly on his arm as he pretends to change his mind, spinning him back around. "Hey!"

He seems somewhat surprised by the casual touch, shrinking back slightly. Riley realizes the breach of comfort a moment too late, retracting her hand but maintaining her smile. Determined not to let herself ruin a potential good thing before it even starts.

"This is going to be fun," she announces, leading the way back to the car. She walks backwards so she can face him, grinning. "We're in for an adventure, I can feel it. I have the feeling our lives are about to change forever."

"Brave new world," he says wryly, but her enthusiasm is infectious. He returns her smile as he gets back into the passenger seat.

Riley glances up at the bus station in front of her, taking a moment to reflect on the decision she just made. How different things could have been if she had kept her mouth shut, and how different they may be from here on out. Makes her think how tiny and insignificant they really are, their lives shifting at the blink of an eye and bending to a universe that may or may not care about how they turn out.

She inhales, absorbing the cloudy blue sky above her. Willing herself to believe the universe cares about her, like her father always claims it does. Willing herself to believe that whatever she and her new car companion discover, it's going to be something amazing.

Then, she gets back into the car and starts the engine, kicking off the next half of her journey home.

* * *

For whatever it was worth, the confrontation outside the bus station seems to have released some of the tension between the two of them. Lucas's discomfort is a bit more subdued, and he's at least established himself welcome enough to leave his backpack on the car floor by his feet rather than cooped up in his arms.

She hopes that with time, he'll ease his way into relaxation in her presence. Either that or he'll fulfill his stereotypical hitchhiker duty and murder her, but she'll be dead by then so she figures she won't have to worry about it.

Part of her wonders if all of this is some deep internal cry for help, pushing herself out of her own comfort zone just to feel something. Another part of her figures if her mother saw her now, carting around a stranger from a dusty, destitute town in the middle of nowhere, she'd probably go into cardiac arrest. That same part of her happens to relish that factor, if only a little bit.

Mostly, she's too busy reveling in how great it feels to have a road trip companion, even if its undoubtedly temporary.

Riley brainstorms ways to test whether or not she should be concerned about Lucas as they make their way through Texas. For all intents and purposes he seems perfectly nice and harmless, but she knows looks can be deceiving.

It doesn't help that he's objectively cute, and the serial killers in those procedural cop shows are always either horribly ugly or deceptively attractive. If he happens to be the latter, then she's sealed her own fate and her mother can rightfully gloat on her grave.

"So if California is the starting point," Lucas asks, giving her a curious look. "Where's the destination?"

"New York." A look of awe flashes through his features for half a second, which Riley can't help but find endearing. "Believe me, it's not as epic as it sounds. Just home."

"That blasé, huh?" He crosses his arms, keeping his gaze in front of him towards the road. "Big Apple? City that never sleeps? City of dreams?"

"I thought that was Los Angeles."

He pauses, squinting slightly. "Whatever. I thought New York was supposed to be all that. The ultimate destination."

"Guess it feels a little different when you've lived there most of your life," she admits. She steals another glance at him. "How do you know so much about it?"

Lucas shrugs, immediately a little more distant. "Read about it some."

Riley feels as though there's something to explore there, whatever draws him to New York. He seems so certain there's something about it worth admiring, maybe just from word of mouth, but it's intriguing. She wishes she felt that way about some place in the world, but neither New York nor California seems to hold it for her.

Like so much else in her life, she's never satisfied even though there's so much wonderful in front of her. No matter how often she reminds herself of it, she doesn't think she can ever replicate that twinkle in Lucas's eyes when she mentioned her home state.

She can only imagine having such a sense of direction or determination.

Before she can question him, her attention is absorbed by the gas station coming up on their left. Taking a deep breath, she runs through her plan in her head one more time and pulls into the station. "I'm going to run into the store as soon as I get the meter going. Just have some things to pick up."

Lucas doesn't seem bothered. "Okay."

She pulls the car up to a meter, putting it in park and killing the engine. Hopping out of the car, she faces the pump and exhales, closing her eyes.

She prays to herself that this plan isn't the stupidest thing she ever does. She also prays that Lucas doesn't do exactly what she's testing to see if he will.

Opening her wallet, Riley pulls her credit card from the first slot and retrieves her ID. She leaves the rest—debit card, gift card to Target, and exactly one hundred dollars in cash. A tempting little treasure trove wrapped in colorful duct tape for someone determined to take advantage of the girl giving them a ride.

She leans back into the car, making a show of collecting the trash around her. She leaves her wallet on the median between their seats and her keys on the driver's seat, raising her eyebrows at him. "Any trash on that side?"

Considering the sense she's already gaining of his penchant for self-deprecating humor, she can nearly see the moment where the desire to mention himself crosses his features. But ultimately, he shakes his head. "Think you got it."

"Cool. Going to run this in and then grab the stuff. Be back in a flash. Can you watch the car?"

She catches uneasiness flash through his features. "You're trusting me with it?"

"You're along for the ride. I essentially should be able to, shouldn't I?" She hopes the question is stemming from a deep sense of honor on his part and not fear that she's catching on to his grand criminal scheme. "Be right back."

She whips around before she can chicken out, leaving him a tad shell-shocked at her naivety and jogging towards the store. She chucks the trash into the bin before stepping through the door, exhaling harshly as it swings closed behind her.

It takes all her willpower not to immediately turn around and watch him like a hawk. She's also acutely aware of the fact that she may very well end up without a car or a wallet if he turns out to be exactly what her anxiety is telling her he is.

She's kicking herself over how stupid she really is, but then, that small part of her finds something thrilling in the whole endeavor. Besides, she has her phone. If he peels off with her hatchback, she can call the cops before he even knows what hit him.

She must have a pretty bizarre expression on her face, because the girl behind the counter is eyeing her critically. But at least she's not chewing tobacco and ignoring her existence. "Everything okay?"

Riley manages a smile. "Think so. Hope so."

"You planning to buy something, or what?"

It suddenly hits Riley that for all her extensive planning, she didn't actually decide what she was going to walk out of the store with when the time came for the big test. She opens her mouth to answer and then closes it, biting her lip instead.

"I don't know if I want to know the answer to this," the cashier continues. "But ma'am, are you drunk or what?"

Riley laughs, shaking her head. She wanders over and approaches the counter. "No, I'm not."

"Well, then maybe you need to be," she offers. She raises a judgmental eyebrow behind her glasses, pushing her curly brown hair behind her ear. "But if you're not going to buy something—,"

"Look," she glances at her nametag, "Sarah. I know I'm being a bit odd at the moment, but you just have to bear with me."

"You're not going to rob me, are you?"

"That's ironic," Riley mutters under her breath. She fights the urge to look over her shoulder, half-expecting her car to be long gone. "No. But I do have to buy something while I'm here, and now that I'm standing here I don't know what it should be. If you were attempting to seem like there was something urgent you had to buy on a road trip, what would it be?"

Sarah hums. "You want my honest answer?"

"Yes, please."

She nods behind them towards the other side of the store. "Only one thing you can't exactly go without between us girls."

Riley spins around, following her gaze to the toiletries section. Along the shelf are rows of pads and tampons, backing into the refrigerators where an assortment of beverages is available for selection. Despite her own silly embarrassment ingrained into her by society, she knows that Sarah is right. It's the perfect, inarguable necessity.

Besides, never hurts to be prepared. She heads over and grabs a box of pads as well as a couple of water bottles, sliding her way back over to the register.

Sarah is leaning over the counter and glancing out the window when she returns, attempting to get a good look at something beyond the doors of the store. "Your car the green one?"

Riley can't help but feel a bit of reprieve at the knowledge that it's still there. She nods, handing the items over.

"Who's the guy waiting for you? At least, I assume he's waiting for you. Either that, or some dude climbed into your car."

She finds herself smiling in spite of herself. "He's a friend."

"He's hot," Sarah declares matter-of-factly, ringing up the items and bagging them for her. "Should've sent him in here to run errands instead."

"Gee, thanks."

Sarah smirks, sliding the bag over the counter to her. "Threw a little present in there for you so maybe you don't terrify the next cashier you run into with your weird behavior. You don't have to thank me."

Riley can only handle so much mystery at once. She decides not to question the gift, taking the bag and heading towards the door. "Thanks, Sarah. Really appreciate all your help."

"You're welcome. And seriously, use that present. Think you could really use it." Her smirk grows a little more sinister. "Who knows? Maybe hot friend could be a little more if you let him play along."

Riley feels a peculiar tingle in her limbs at the insinuation. She laughs awkwardly, pushing her way out the door and darting towards the car.

A rush of relief surges through her at the sight of her car waiting for her exactly where she left it, Lucas not having moved an inch. She offers him a smile as she approaches, dropping the bag by the car door and spinning to attend to the pump. "Sorry that took a little longer than expected. Hope it wasn't too hot."

"No worries," he says genially. "It was fine."

Considering the denim jacket he's sporting, she doesn't see how he couldn't be sweating to death. But she opts to trust his judgment.

Pulling open the back door, she grabs her backpack and makes to shift some things around with her new materials. She removes her stuffed cat Violet without thinking, plopping it on the median and depositing the pads in its place.

She looks up just in time to catch Lucas's confused look as he examines the cat now staring at him from the median. A giggle escapes her, but she can't tell if it's from the look on his face or the embarrassment coloring her own.

"Don't like cats?"

"No, cats are fine," he says amicably. "Purple cats, on the other hand, aren't exactly the kind you'd see running around the strip."

She laughs, conceding this fact with a nod. She deposits one of the water bottles in her backpack and holds out the other one for him to take. He obliges, placing Violet on the floor by his feet and transferring the bottle from her hand to her cup holder. "Her name is Violet. I've had her since I was a kid, so she kind of goes everywhere with me. Just out of habit. I know it's lame."

"Not lame," he says. "Cool that you've had something like that for so long."

Riley is about to explain further when she uncovers the bonus item Sarah bagged for her, staring at the small bottle of whiskey tucked into the bottom of the bag. She feels her cheeks flush, absolutely unprepared with what to do with it.

"Seriously, it's not weird," Lucas continues, taking her silence as a fault on his part. "I guess it's just weird to me. I don't have anything like that."

She clears her throat, shoving the whiskey into her backpack so she doesn't have to look at it anymore. When she gets to their hotel for the night, she'll dump it. She'll get rid of it before it has the chance to cause any trouble.

"You should get one," Riley says quickly, changing the subject as she closes the back door and heads to the driver's side. She casts a glance in the direction of the store, catching Sarah's eye as she finishes ringing up another patron. The sneaky cashier gives her a smirk, waving cheekily.

Riley scowls, getting into the car and slamming the door behind her.

"A what?"

She has to blink to take a moment to remember their conversation, catching up mentally. "A comfort animal. To take with you on all your grand adventures." She fishes out the keys from the seat underneath her, having forgotten she left them there. "For example, I love cats, and my favorite color is purple. Thus, we have Violet."

"Ah. Creative naming, by the way."

"Why, thank you," she says, offering him a nod. She waits until he's distracted by Violet to reach for her wallet, holding her breath as she opens it to return the credit card.

Everything is exactly where she left it. Her debit card, the tempting Target gift card, and every bill of her one hundred dollars. She played innocent to the best of her ability, and if Lucas was determined to take advantage of her innocence then she figures this would've been his chance to do it.

She shifts her gaze to him, taking him in fully for the first time since she picked him up off the street. He's tan, probably from all that relentless Texas sun. His jean jacket is faded with wear. His sandy blonde hair is messy like the kids from the convenience store, but with a much more appealing trim. He's examining Violet thoughtfully, picking at a hangnail on his thumb.

"Well, my favorite color is blue. And I'd say I like horses best, but I've never given it much thought."

Most of all, he seems far from threatening. When he looks up and locks eyes with her again, she decides he passes the test with flying colors.

"A stuffed blue horse it is," she declares, starting the car. "I'll keep an eye out."

* * *

Around the time she begins searching for a place to stop for dinner, the sun is just starting to set. Scanning the road for restaurants to choose, she feels a familiar flutter in her chest when she spots one waiting for her at the end of the corner. "Oh, incredible."

Lucas glances up from his feet to see what she's referring to, genuine surprise crossing his features when he sees what parking lot they're pulling into. "This is incredible to you?"

"What?" Riley frowns as she parks the car, giving him a look. Above them, the sign of the Applebee's glows welcomingly at them. "What's wrong with Applebee's?"

"Nothing, I guess. It's just not exactly an exclamation-earning venue for most people."

She juts her chin out, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Who said I was most people? I, Riley Matthews, am far from most people."

"Believe me, I have no doubt about that."

She chooses to take the comment as a compliment, smiling as she pulls herself out of the vehicle.

When she steps up onto the curb, she finds Lucas staring off towards the distance where the sky is just beginning to shift from blue to pink. It's a stunning view, but she somehow figures he's not simply an appreciator of sunsets.

"Pretty," she comments, hoping to get a little insight into his thoughts.

He blinks, coming back to reality. "Yeah. How far's the state line?"

"We're only a little ways out from Beaumont, which is where I was planning we'd stop for the night. It's essentially on the border. So not too far."

"Beaumont?" he repeats, stepping up onto the curb to join her and following her lead towards the establishment.

"Mhm. You know it?"

He tilts his head from side to side, shrugging ambiguously. "Of it."

She wonders if his vague nature is going to dissipate as time goes on, or if she'll always be stuck puzzling over her mysterious car companion.

He initially attempts to claim he isn't hungry but Riley isn't having any of it, warning him she'll order on his behalf if he doesn't. No matter how good he is at concealing his emotions, making him frustrating to read, there's no way after driving around all day on the road that he isn't the slightest bit hungry.

Finally, he relents, ordering a small macaroni and cheese. Not satisfying by any means, but she figures it's better than nothing.

Once their food arrives, Riley can't help but feel subconscious over the fact that she eats blazing fast and Lucas seems to be taking his sweet time with the pasta. She pops a French fry into her mouth, convincing herself to take it slow. "So, macaroni and cheese?"

He lifts his eyes from the dish to meet hers. "Yes, and?"

"Well, I just have to wonder why of all the dishes at your disposal on this menu, you'd go for the side order of mac and cheese. Unless you just really, really like mac and cheese."

She's happy to see a bashful smile creep onto his face. He stabs at the dish with his spoon. "As a matter of fact, I'd have to say macaroni and cheese is only the best food ever invented."

"Oh, serious, are you?"

"Extremely," he agrees, taking a bite. He chews thoughtfully, waiting until he's savored the bite to continue. "Maybe it's a Southern thing, don't know, but we take our craft seriously."

"Kraft? With a 'K?'"

"Don't you dare mention that devil corporation in my presence," he says, causing her to burst out laughing. "Kraft is a mockery of macaroni and cheese. Running its good reputation through the mud."

She holds her hands up in surrender. "My mistake. I'll remember that for my future macaroni and cheese reference."

"As you should. You're welcome." He takes another bite, pretending to cringe. "Not that this is much better, but as far as the options go here at Applebee's…"

"You're mean." When he shrugs, smirk on his face, she continues. "I really like the desserts here. I don't know, maybe I'm a sugar person. I feel like I could consume buckets of sugar and probably never get sick of it."

"That explains a lot about you."

"What can I say?" She twirls a piece of hair in her fingers, shrugging coyly. "Takes a lot of sugar to be this naturally sweet."

Lucas smiles at her, shaking his head. When he dips his head down he pokes at his food, suddenly thoughtful again. "Sophia loves sugar. She's the only one I can think of from home who does."

Although she's fascinated to get a name drop of someone from his hometown, she can't help but feel a bit disappointed for no reason. Why should she care that Lucas has someone he cares about from home that happens to be a female? There's nothing to say that they're anything more than friends.

And furthermore, why on Earth does she care? It seems like a ridiculous thing to be upset over in regards to a person whom she's known for less than twenty-four hours. But of course, her brain loves to take a good thing and run with it, overthinking everything until it's run into the ground and unable to be enjoyed anymore.

It's perfectly acceptable if Lucas has a girl back home he cares about. A girlfriend or otherwise. In fact, Riley would be more surprised if he didn't have someone at home taking interest in him—Sarah wasn't wrong when she astutely pointed out his good looks, and if a complete stranger who had never even spoken a word to him was observant enough to comment on it there's no way no one from his hometown never took an interest in him. It's not only plausible that Lucas has romantic interests waiting for him, it's simply probable. And it's not Riley's place to be unnecessarily affected by that probability.

She's simply concerned for this Sophia, that's all. If she were in a relationship with someone as nice as Lucas and she found out he'd been traveling the continent with another girl, she'd be rightfully upset. That's all it is. Empathy for this mystery girl.

Sometimes, Riley sincerely wishes her brain would stop functioning just so she could get a moment of mental rest.

The dinner passes inoffensively, Riley dominating most of the conversation as she rambles on like usual. Lucas doesn't seem bothered, proving himself an intent listener and actually appearing somewhat interested in the things she has to say. She'd always garnered herself a bit of a reputation for being a rambler, but she never exactly felt like anybody was truly listening.

Lucas is different. She doesn't know quite why—just another puzzle to struggle to piece together with him—but she can't deny that she likes the feeling of being with him. For how often she spends questioning herself around others, she could get used to the serendipitous ease she feels between the two of them.

Lucas gazes at the building around the, watching a family wander in to be seated before pointing his spoon in her direction. "So how come? What is it about Applebee's that draws you in so much?"

Riley smiles, grateful for the distraction. She glances around them at the familiar scenery, shrugging. "I don't know. I guess something subconscious. Like, when my family went on road trips when I was younger, we always ended up eating at one at least one. My dad loves it. And I don't know, there's something reliable about it. Like, no matter where you are, east coast to west, when you step into an Applebee's it's bound to look the same and have the same food. So it's like a constant home away from home, in a sense. Or a place to belong, at least."

Riley trails off, catching Lucas watching her with a new expression on his face. It's not distant like many of his are, in fact if anything he seems more in tune with her and present than he has. He's listening attentively, features soft. She decides she rather likes them soft.

"Sorry, that was totally more than you were expecting I'm sure." She waves her hand as if to brush the rant away, blushing slightly. "I tend to do that. Ramble. As I'm sure you've noticed."

"It's okay," he says. His tone is sincere. "I don't mind."

She smiles, feeling warm in the pit of her stomach. She drops her gaze down to her food, chewing on her lip. "Applebee's is a magical place. Agree or disagree?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Agree or disagree. That's all you have to say." She locks eyes with him, a challenge twinkle in her eye. "Applebee's is the happiest place on Earth. Agree or disagree?"

He's clearly unfamiliar with her little game, but he's not unwilling to play along. He makes a face, poking at his macaroni and cheese. "I don't know. I feel like if I say anything but agree I'm going to end up stranded outside this one with no ride."

Riley breaks into laughter, appreciating his dry sense of humor and deadpan delivery. Whatever she was anticipating when she offered him a ride earlier in the day, he's certainly not exactly what she expected he'd be. She feels like there's a lot more to Lucas than most people attempt to uncover, all of his charm and humanity and soul buried deep beneath his steely exterior.

But she saw it the moment she looked into his eyes. And for what it's worth, she's looking forward to discovering whatever she can in the time they have together.

She reminds herself she hopes Sophia's okay with it.

* * *

After a brief argument over who was going to front the bill at Applebee's, Riley wins on the insistence that she owes him for agreeing to come along with her. She can tell he doesn't want to admit it, but she's almost certain she's more financially equipped than he is even if she doesn't know by how much, and she has no problem covering the bill.

Still, he doesn't seem too happy about it. He's a little chillier the moment the question of money comes up and he retains it for the duration of their trip to search for lodging, Riley uncertain how to thaw him out.

"Shit," she mutters as her phone blinks at her, her navigation app pointing her in all sorts of different directions.

"What?"

"Service isn't great. It keeps redirecting me." She chews the inside of her cheek nervously, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel as they wait at a light. "I'm just trying to get to the motel, but suddenly it's all confused. We can't be more than a few miles out."

Lucas frowns, leaning forward to squint at the map on her phone. "Where are we headed?"

"It's a local chain. The address is there in the search bar."

"Oh, I know how to get there," he says blankly, before clearing his throat and glancing up from the map to the dark road in front of them. "Take a left up here."

She follows his directions, choosing to trust him like she did before and believing he's not just now deciding to drive her into a ditch and finish the job. "You know the motel?"

"Of it."

Riley listens to his instructions as he plays navigator, eventually dropping her phone on the median and operating entirely from his own sense of direction. Before long they arrive at the hotel, Riley pulling into a parking space and exhaling in relief.

"Thanks for that," she says gratefully, unbuckling and getting up to get her stuff from the back. "You're a natural with that."

"Trust me, once we get out of Texas I'll be useless," he assures her. She tries not to think about the fact that he's implying he'll stick around longer than tonight. She doesn't want to get her hopes up.

When she grabs her things from the back, she comes around to join him at the front. He's waiting uncertainly, glancing through the glass doors towards the front desk where a concierge is working at the desk. There's a gleam in his eyes that she can't quite place, like so many other aspects of his numerous expressions.

"Ready?"

"Oh, you go ahead," he says politely, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Figure we'll split for the night, right?"

She realizes he's right. She wasn't intending to insist they share a room, in fact now that she's really thinking about it she's grateful he's drawing some sensible boundaries rather than taking advantage of her own lack of thinking. Maybe she is as naïve as she pretends to be.

"Right. Of course." She starts towards the motel, looking over her shoulder at him. "See you in the morning?"

He nods. But she doesn't know if she believes it. Considering how suddenly he came into her life, she can't help but wonder if he'll disappear just as easily.

After committing his image to memory, she forces herself to leave him behind and heads inside.

The concierge lifts his head the moment he hears the door slide open, offering her a friendly grin. He's younger than she thought from so far away, probably only a year or so older than her. He's still got a layer of baby fat on his cheeks, his dark hair messy from his own lack of tidiness rather than the circumstances of the boys from the strip. "Howdy!"

"Howdy," she says shyly, smiling and approaching the desk. "Reservation for Matthews?"

"Reservation! Reservation. Let me check on that for you," he says, sliding towards the computer and typing out her name on the keyboard. He's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, alight with an infectious energy that seems to radiate off of him. Riley wishes she had that level of energy. She feels like she could seriously use it lately.

"Got it. And prepaid. Let me get these keys for you."

Riley glances over her shoulder at Lucas still outside in the dark. She can't help but worry, her nerves eating away at her. "Any chance you have some available rooms?"

He follows her gaze, smirking knowingly. "Yeah, I was going to ask about your friend there. He staying by himself?"

"If you have the space."

"Yeah, we got room," he assures her. As Lucas starts to heads towards the doors, the concierge's expression shifts from generally pleasant to something a little more complex. A twinkle of recognition lights up his eyes. "Have a good night, yeah? Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks," Riley says, feeling as though he's already moved past her. She takes the keys and makes her way down the hall.

She takes one last look behind her as Lucas enters the building, watching the moment curiously. The concierge comes out from behind the desk and comes to greet him, surprising Riley when he envelops Lucas in a hug. It's certainly not what she was expecting, but then, it does explain why Lucas seemed to know the place by name.

She forces herself to look away from the warm exchange, heading to her room.

After she unloads and gets into bed, despite being dead exhausted she can't find it in her to fall asleep. Her mind is running a million miles an hour, refusing to let her drift off. Amongst the fleeting thoughts floating through her brain, one recurs and threatens to keep her awake all night.

She regrets the fact that she didn't get a promise from Lucas that he would in fact be there and ready to continue the journey with her tomorrow. A nod was never going to be enough.

And if the universe decides to take him from her as suddenly as it introduced him, she regrets the fact that she didn't get to say goodbye.

* * *

After a restless night, her fears are somewhat assuaged when she heads to the desk to check out the next morning and finds Lucas doing the same. She offers him a smile and he returns it, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder.

"Good morning!" she chirps cheerfully, joining him at the desk. "Sleep well?"

"Morning. And yeah, well enough." He's distracted as the concierge from the night before returns from behind the door labeled _management_ , grinning wider when he finds Riley waiting there as well.

"Morning, Miss Matthews! You rest easy?"

"Very well," she states, figuring a little white lie won't hurt anybody in this scenario. She glances at the nametag on his shirt, taking it in for the first time. "Thanks, Dylan."

"Oh, our pleasure." Dylan slides Lucas a receipt which distracts him out of gazing at the display behind the counter. Following his line of sight, she eyes the varied assortment of candy on display.

She finds herself smiling. "Need anything before we go?"

Lucas jumps, shaking his head quickly. "I'm good. I'll meet you outside."

There's an uncertain beat where he and Dylan lock eyes, caught in a moment of time. They share a tacit exchange, not saying anything but Riley gripped with the distinct feeling that she's intruding on something.

Then Lucas is gone, heading towards the sliding doors and out of sight.

Riley softly slides her room key onto the desk, unable to ignore the bittersweet coloring Dylan's features. Although she doesn't know the full situation, she gets the feeling that whatever they just shared was the equivalent of the goodbye she feared she'd had with Lucas the night before.

"He likes chocolate," Dylan says suddenly, breaking her out of her thoughts. He offers a tight smile, nodding in Lucas's direction. "That's why he was eyeing the candy bars. Lord knows he can't afford it, but sometimes that sweet tooth he had when we were kids still gets the best of him."

Riley knows exactly what he's doing, rambling to fill the emptiness that's suddenly sprung up inside him. At least in this case there's a clear cause of the absence—the problem for her is that she's constantly working to fill up a sense of emptiness that seems to creep up on her out of nowhere.

Still, the sentiment is nice. If someone who knew Lucas from his youth still seems so fond of him even after time apart, then she figures she's right to trust her perception of him.

"You're all good, Miss Matthews," he says, locking eyes with her. "Anything else I can do for you before you take off?"

Riley glances over her shoulder, looking towards the car waiting out in the lot. She turns back to face him, offering him another smile.

"Yeah. How much for one of those chocolate bars?"

* * *

When Riley emerges from the motel into the morning sun, she takes a moment to revel in how different she feels compared to how she felt yesterday. The fatigue is practically gone today, the sunshine feeling invigorating rather than soul-sucking. She's looking forward to the surprises the road has waiting for her, feeling that sense of enthusiasm she envisioned for this trip from the start.

It's no wonder what the cause of all her new energy stems from.

Lucas is waiting for her by the car, leaning back against the passenger side door and crossing his arms. When they lock eyes he smiles lightly, already volumes more friendly than he was when they ran into each other yesterday on the Sundance strip.

There's still much more to learn about one another and more room to get comfortable, but Riley isn't in any rush. So far he's been worth the risk, and the trip is far from over. Much like the old road trip adage, she figures the journey of getting to know him is going to be just as meaningful as the final destination.

"Lots of ground to cover," she says to him as she passes him by to head to the driver's side. She raises her eyebrows at him, offering a challenge. "Ready, cowboy?"

He rolls his eyes at the nickname, but the smile is still intact on his face. Riley decides she doesn't ever want it to leave.

"Have to be," he says wisely, exhaling his reservations the same way she willed herself to trust in the universe. So far, it's paying off.

"I think we're both ready to see what happens next."


	4. grilled cheese & whiskey ( lucas )

Miles from Austin and well on his way to Tennessee, Lucas is pretty sure he's made a terrible, terrible mistake.

Not that the situation itself is anything to complain about. No, all things considered, this is probably the best hitchhike he's ever done. The car is clean even if it looks like it's about to fall apart any second, and there's this air freshener clipped to the dashboard that makes the whole thing smell like cinnamon apples. It's a vast improvement from his usual rides, in which the car often smells like gasoline, or dog, or sweat. A lot of sweat. Mostly sweat.

He's trying very, very hard not to sweat in Riley's perfectly nice hatchback.

Riley is a category all her own as far as hitchhiking drivers.

Most of the people that give him rides are older guys—a lot of farmers—local bachelor-type Southern men looking for some temporary company and not afraid to take their chances on a complete stranger. As white males, they don't have much to be cautious over anyway. A lot of times, people that pick him up are traveling with someone else, so they have minimal risk if he tried to overpower them.

As far as the usual companion, Riley is basically the opposite. She's young, she's female, and driving alone. She's not from around here and she doesn't smell at all like sweat or tobacco.

She's also very pretty, but Lucas doesn't know what to do with that information so he just ignores it as best he can and spends time looking out the window.

Riley's definitely different, but that's not what makes him certain this is going to bite him in the ass sooner or later. It's because this is a completely different situation, _she's_ completely different, and he figures he should be more on edge or less comfortable than usual but he's not. If anything, he feels weirdly calm sitting in her car and conversing with her. She doesn't feel like a stranger, and he's content drifting through the country in her passenger seat.

That's comfort, and comfort is dangerous. Comfort is a luxury, and he's never been able to afford luxuries. And if he knows anything, it's that life will come after you when you can't pay your debts.

He already feels thoroughly indebted to Riley, and that's how he knows this is going to end in disaster. And yet, here he is, reclining in her passenger seat and allowing his expenses to climb higher and higher.

If he knows anything else, it's that he's a huge idiot, so at least he's being consistent.

"You can still adjust anything if you want," Riley offers, breaking the silence and making Lucas jump in spite of himself. She waves a hand in the general direction of the dashboard console. "Temperature, radio, all that sort of stuff."

Lucas nods, crossing his arms. "I'm good. Thanks, though."

She smiles lightly, chewing her lip as silence fills the car again. He knows he's the one making this awkward—putting up walls and shutting down communication—so he forces himself to try a little harder not to be so closed off. They've had a good amount of conversation so far and the world hasn't spontaneously combusted yet. He's the guest, after all, so he shouldn't be making her feel uncomfortable in her own car.

He allows himself a glance in her direction. Despite her easygoing smile, her posture seems a little stiff. She's tapping her thumb against the steering wheel, seemingly more for the sake of action than anything else. There's shadows under her eyes, just a hint of grey signaling the exhaustion building from so many hours of driving.

He's already long overstayed his welcome and done nothing in return. The debt towards her is still insurmountable, but he figures maybe he can at least remedy some of the guilt.

"You know," he says after a moment, clearing his throat. He makes the pointed effort to uncross his arms, slouching slightly in his seat and clasping his hands together on his lap instead. "If you're tired, I can take over for a while. Whenever."

He doesn't know what he's expecting, but Riley's cackle in response is not it.

"What?" His arms are crossed again. "What?"

"Oh, yeah," she laughs. "I'm just gonna hand over my keys and my vehicle to a complete stranger and let him drive me wherever. Yeah, good one."

Lucas feels like he should be offended, but he knows she has a point. Besides, the tone in her voice indicates that she doesn't mean anything personal by the comment. "Gee, coming from the girl who let the stranger in her car in the first place."

She rolls her eyes. "Still. I have to have some common sense here."

"Look, I'm just saying," Lucas says, raising his hands in surrender. He accidentally kicks something soft as he stretches his legs out, reaching over and pulling Violet the stuffed cat from the floor of the car. He examines it before plopping it on his lap, giving Riley a look. "If you get tired, I am here and available to help. Least I could do."

"Well, thanks. But I'm okay."

"Violet doesn't think so." Lucas props the cat upright against his knee, tilting it in Riley's direction. "Violet is warning you against overexertion. Driving tired is almost as dangerous as driving drunk. We don't want any accidents out here on the Tennessee roadway."

Her giggle is both endearing and infectious. "Are you seriously talking to me through the cat?"

"No, I am merely translating." She laughs harder and Lucas can't help but smile. "Regardless, the offer still stands."

Riley eyes him, still smirking. "I'll think about it. But we're not going to have a Tennessee accident when we're still stuck in Louisiana. Could you check the map for me?"

Lucas feels a beat of panic wash over him. "Like, on a phone, or?"

"No, there's a map in my bag. I penned out the route I'm taking, and I just want to make sure we're on the right track and everything."

He can feel the embarrassment fade as he reaches back around the seat to grab her bag, happy to have avoided the need for technology he doesn't have. He wouldn't be able to look it up on his own, and he's not sure he feels comfortable touching her phone. He's barely trusting himself with her cat.

At Riley's insistence he gives up on trying to reach it from the back, pulling the entire bag forward and plopping it on the floor between his feet before attempting to search through it. He finishes unzipping it, hesitating when he sees a familiar object thrown haphazardly on top of the rest of her things.

He pulls the candy bar from the backpack, surprised to see it in his hand rather than sitting back on the shelf at the Beaumont hotel. "When did you get this?"

She tosses a glance his way, shrugging nonchalantly. "Oh, I just picked it up on the way out. It wasn't a big deal, sort of a last minute impulse buy. You can have it."

"That's really okay," he starts to refuse, but Riley shakes her head.

"I didn't get it for me." She looks away from the road long enough to lock eyes with him. "Please, take it."

At this point, it would be more rude of him not to accept it. He makes a face, pocketing the candy bar and promising himself that he isn't going to eat it. Just another piece of charity he's going to have to pay back eventually.

He raises his eyebrow at the next item tucked on top of the rest of her things, pulling out the small bottle of whiskey and tilting his head at her. "Another impulse buy?"

Riley's cheeks flush. She swipes a hand out at him, ushering for him to put it away. "Don't just go waving that around! We're on the road!"

"What, do you think we're going to get pulled over for holding a sealed bottle of liquor?" Lucas cracks up, opening the glove compartment and sticking the bottle inside it. "Let me explain to you how the justice system works."

"I'm just…" She huffs, and he has to admit he kind of likes the way her nose crinkles when she's frustrated. "I'm just trying to get to New York in one piece. Without a criminal record."

He ignores the gut reaction in the pit of his stomach at her words. "Still doesn't explain why you bought it."

"I don't know!" she says, obviously flustered. "It was a... I don't know. I don't know how I end up in situations like these. Things happen to me sometimes."

"Clearly." He pauses, staring out the window and holding back a smile. But it doesn't take long for him to turn his focus back to her. "Are you going to drink it?"

"Well not _now._ "

"Well, obviously, not now. I meant like, later. At a later time."

"Yeah, yeah."

"At a time past this present moment. The opposite of earlier."

"Would you just get the map, please?"

Lucas grins wider, returning his attention back to her bag. It doesn't take him long to find the map, unfolding it and spreading it out against the dashboard in front of him. Once he confirms with Riley that she's going the right direction, he spends a little time actually looking over her travel route. He intends to decide a point for him to part ways with her, but he gets distracted by the reality of the planned itinerary.

"What is this?" He leans in closer to get a better look and make sure he's not misreading, squinting at the purple line connecting Memphis to the rest of the route. "You're going to Tennessee and you're not stopping in Nashville?"

Riley frowns at the road. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes, there's a problem!" Lucas declares, tracing his finger along the route and shaking his head at every missed opportunity. "The problem is you're making a huge cross country trip and you're missing so many good cities! What's the point of going on a journey like this if you don't stop at the places that are like, hallmark destinations?"

She gives him a look for as long as she can tear her eyes away from the highway. "Oh, like you're the expert."

"You know, I've given it a lot of thought. I'd like to say I am."

Riley taps her thumb against the steering wheel again, shrugging her shoulders after a moment of thought. "So change it."

"Huh?"

"Change it. I'm not in a rush, and you're along for the ride. If you think you know a better route, you change it up."

Lucas considers this, staring at the map in his hands. It's just a piece of paper, but it feels heavy with potential. All his life he's been stuck in the outskirts of Austin, wishing he could be anywhere else. Daydreaming about all the places he could go, all the things he could see. Now Riley's holding out the opportunity in front of him, dangling it invitingly, and all he has to do is take it.

But then it's a commitment. If he goes and changes her entire itinerary, then he certainly can't be going his own way any time soon. No, if he's going to intrude and ruin all her plans, then he has to be promising to do it for the long haul. He'll be tying himself more securely to the hazardous comfort and the towering debt he's continuing to build towards her.

The entire world—or at least the eastern half of the continental United States—is at his fingertips, and he's got a guide offering to take him there. He's just has to decide if he's ready to accept eternal damnation to see it.

"Well?" Riley raises an eyebrow.

Lucas examines her, before gazing out the dashboard window at the world in front of them. All the new ground he's already tread. Before now he had never even crossed the Texas state line, and now thanks to her he's well beyond it.

He knows it's a mistake. He knows it's a trap. He knows it can only end in disaster, as everything he touches does.

"Fine," he agrees, folding the map back up and tapping it against his knee. His mind is too busy blazing over potential routes to dwell on his own stupid decision-making. "I'll think about it."

* * *

It doesn't take him long to think about it. By the time they're tucked into a booth at a diner along the interstate, Lucas has the map spread out across the table and is taking a Sharpie to it.

"I'm assuming since Philly is starred, you have a special reason to be stopping there."

Riley nods, chewing on the straw of her milkshake. "My grandparents live there, so I figured I would stop and see them. Have dinner or something."

"Okay. I won't touch that then." He peruses the rest of her route and shakes his head, scoffing. "How are you going to go up the coast and not stop in Washington, D.C.? It's the capitol of the entire country."

"I don't know. I've been there before."

"It has centuries of history packed into it and free museums. Like, entire epicenters of culture for free. There's no way you've seen everything there is to see there. We have to stop there." He catches the tickled expression on her face and narrows his eyes. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," she says off-handedly, pulling out the straw out of the glass and twirling it idly. She watches some of the ice cream drip off back into the glass before smirking. "I just didn't expect you to be such a… history buff."

"I am not," he says defensively. Riley raises her eyebrows, keeping eye contact with him as she licks the rest of the milkshake off the straw. "Look, I've just given this a lot of thought."

"The Smithsonian?"

"No, like, traveling. Going somewhere I've never gone before." He tears his attention away from her smile, focusing back on adjusting their route. "We should find some way to get at least a glimpse of Virginia Beach. I mean, there are a ton of beaches along the coast here, but that's the one I've heard the most about. So I'd like to see it."

Riley nods agreeably. "Whatever you want."

Lucas isn't sure whether to be grateful she's being so supportive of his destruction of her original plans or guilty that he's taking such an axe to it. He thinks about saying something on the matter when he's preoccupied with the arrival of their lunch.

Once the waitress disappears Riley makes a scene of gasping at Lucas's food choice, staring at the grilled cheese on his plate in front of him. "I'm shocked. I thought you said your favorite food was macaroni and cheese."

"Oh, it is," he assures her. "But you shouldn't pass up a good grilled cheese when you have the chance."

She takes a French fry off her plate and chews it thoughtfully, tilting her head at him. "I'm guessing this is another matter you're quite serious about."

"Mac and cheese is a great every day food, but grilled cheese is something ethereal." He clasps his hands together solemnly. "There's not one ailment on this Earth that grilled cheese can't cure. It is the solution to all bad days and the ultimate crowning jewel to the good ones."

The expression on her face is unlike any he's ever seen before. She's smiling but it doesn't really seem intentional, and her features are softer than normal. It's definitely not an expression that's ever been directed at him and he doesn't quite know how to respond to it, so he clears his throat and distracts himself with the food.

Once they've devoured their meals, the conversation drifts through topics until Riley sighs, leaning back against the booth and blowing air out through her lips. "This was a bad idea."

"What?"

"Eating," she whines, running a hand through her hair. She screws her eyes shut. "Now I'm just… sleepy. Just wanna lay down and take a nap. Definitely don't want to drive for another three hours. Don't want to drive ever again."

He wishes he could say he told her so, but there's something about her pouting that's endearing so he decides against it. "Well, I've already offered my services. I don't see how I could do much else. But the offer still stands."

She opens one eye, peeking at him across the table. "I have to have some common sense."

"I hear you, I hear you," Lucas says, reclining as well and taking a deep breath. "I'm just looking forward to getting back into the car and relaxing. Just sitting back and chilling. Not stressing about the road or focusing on the operation of a motor vehicle."

"Now you're just being cruel."

"Maybe I'll take a nap." He hums, leaning his head back and tapping his fingers on the tabletop. "You know, there's something about the road that's just really lulling…"

"Alright, alright," Riley snaps, sitting up straighter. "You broke me. You win. You can drive if you really want to."

He bounces in his seat, straightening up with pride. He grins. "I'm doing this for your own good."

"One condition though," she says, holding up a finger. Lucas notices the lavender polish on her fingernails for the first time, chipped in a couple of places. He figures it's been a while since she put it on. "I need to see some form of identification. I need to see that you're a legally licensed driver."

Lucas hesitates before reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and a couple other crumbled pieces of paper. He's a bit self-conscious about how light it is but hands it over anyway, slouching back as she takes it from him and focusing on the papers in his hand instead.

One is the napkin with his mother's number on it, scribbled in Asher's neat penmanship. He scowls at it, debating leaving it on the table for the wait staff to clear away before stuffing it back in his coat pocket instead.

The other is the receipt from the motel before they left Texas. He recognizes Dylan's messy scrawl on the bottom of the paper, beneath the total of zero dollars and zero cents.

 _A favor isn't a favor when it's family. DO NOT FORGET ME! COME BACK SOME TIME!_

It had been years since Lucas had seen Dylan, and he still can't really believe he just welcomed him back into his life with open arms as if they'd never been apart. Not only that, but he waived his room fee as if it was absolutely nothing. He made sure to tell him thank you, but it still didn't feel like enough. Just another debt he's never going to be able to repay.

He wonders if he'll ever see Dylan again, or if the reason his hug was so tight was because they both knew in their hearts it was likely the last one.

"Can I ask a personal question?" Riley asks curiously, peering at him over his open wallet.

Lucas shrugs, shoving Dylan's receipt back in his pocket. "Sure."

Riley pulls a photo from the display slot, holding it out for him to see. "Why do you have a picture of a horse in your wallet?"

"Oh, yeah," Lucas says, laughing in spite of himself. Nothing about her is funny exactly, but seeing the photo always sends a weird sensation through him that hurts more than he'd like to admit, so he forces himself to laugh instead. "Back in Texas, my family used to raise horses."

Riley blinks at him, obviously waiting for more. "And?"

"Nothing. That's it."

"No, it's not," she says incredulously. "Just saying your family raises horses doesn't explain why you have _this_ photo of _this_ horse."

Lucas relents, tilting his head back and forth and clasping his fingers together nervously on the table. "When I was younger, there was a period where I was… home a lot. So I would help with them pretty often, and one time one of them was pregnant and foaling. I was the only one around, so I had to call the vet and he talked me through it."

Riley's expression is no longer soft, but full of surprise. "You delivered a baby horse?"

"Trust me, it's not as amazing as it sounds." He pauses, correcting himself. "I mean, it was amazing. Like, the coolest thing I've ever seen. But I didn't do anything that was all that impressive." When Riley continues to stare at the photo in awe rather than speak, Lucas fills the silence. "Anyway, that's the horse I helped. Her name is Sophia."

He's amazed by how wide Riley's eyes become. "Oh, _that's_ Sophia!"

"Yeah, it is," he confirms uncertainly. He's about to question the tone of her reaction but she's already moved on, breaking into delighted chuckles and retrieving the only card he has from his wallet.

"Oh my God," she says, still giggling. "Look at you!"

It's a bit of a shock for Lucas to take an actual long look at his identification photo. Considering it's more than a few years old, it feels wildly misleading. With his neatly trimmed hair and brighter features and brand new shirt, he almost looks like a stranger. He hasn't looked in a mirror in a while, but he's fairly certain it's not much of an accurate depiction anymore.

Riley doesn't seem as concerned with the deceptive image. She continues to twitter, marveling at the photo. "Look at your little face. And your little haircut."

"Okay, okay, you've seen it, haven't you? I think the point has been made."

"It's crazy, you look so different here." Riley pauses, holding up a hand to pause the conversation. "Not like, in a bad way. Like, you look fine now and everything."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it."

Riley smiles at him. "Everyone looks a little off in their license photos." To prove her point, she fiddles on the seat beside her and places her own wallet on the surface in front of him. "Go on."

"What, you want me to look at your wallet?"

"Well, you let me see yours," she explains, nudging the wallet closer to him. "Really. Go ahead."

Lucas narrows his eyes at her as he slowly reaches and picks it up, flipping it open. It's a lot heavier than his, and the first thing he notices are the credit and debit cards stuck into the top slots for easy access. He tries not to linger on them and pushes his focus towards the license, pulling it from its sleeve and scrutinizing it.

She looks essentially the same, only her hair is longer and pinned back out of her face. She's one of those people who manages to smile ever-so-slightly despite the instruction not to, and the enthusiasm in her big, brown eyes is present even in black and white.

All he can think is that Riley is a bold-faced liar. He lets out a laugh in spite of himself, but it comes out more like a bark.

"What?" She lowers his own license, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You said all license photos were embarrassing. I was expecting it to be embarrassing," he explains, unable to hold back the smile that spreads across his face. "But you're just cute!"

Riley lets out a noise that's somewhere between a squeak and a cough. He glances up to make sure she's not choking before exploring the rest of her wallet, stopping on the photo she selected to take up the picture sleeve.

"Who's this?"

Riley glances away from his wallet, her mouth automatically lifting at the corners. Immediately, Lucas can tell that whoever it is, they're important to her in a way that very few people are. When a photo is enough to get such a natural smile out of someone, that's a sure enough sign. "That's my younger brother. His name is Auggie."

"Auggie?"

She grins at his tone. "Nickname for August."

"Riley and August," he says thoughtfully, sliding the picture back into its sleeve. "Your parents aren't ones for simple names, huh?"

"Well, my mother's name is Topanga. So, no."

Lucas tries to come up with something witty in response to that but comes up painfully short. "Okay."

Riley grins at him, holding out her hand for them to exchange wallets once again. Once they've paid their checks and are ready to head out, she steps back allows him to step towards the vehicle first.

"This is a huge display of trust going on here," Riley states as she walks around to the passenger side. "You do recognize that, right? I'm trusting you with my vehicle and my life."

"Probably not very sensible," Lucas comments, raising his hands in surrender at the disdainful look on her face. "I know, I know. I appreciate it. And I take it seriously."

She nods, climbing into the car first. Lucas takes a deep breath, fighting his nerves and wiping his hands on his jeans before sliding into the driver's seat.

* * *

By the time the sun starts to set and Riley makes Lucas pull off the road to yet another Applebee's for dinner, Lucas is convinced there's something seriously wrong with her.

"You have an addiction," he states as he shuts the driver's side door, tossing her keychain at her over the hood of the car. "Like, of all the vices in the world, you have an addiction to a second rate chain restaurant."

Riley just manages to catch the keys, dropping her jaw at his snide commentary. "You take that back."

"I can't. It's toothpaste. It's not going back in the tube."

He pulls open the door and steps back to let her through, raising his eyebrows at her. She sneers at him, turning her nose up as she walks past him into the establishment. He can't help but smirk, shaking his head as he follows her inside.

Although there's nothing inherently wrong with the place, Lucas can't shake the feeling of contempt that settles over him for the duration of the meal. He doesn't eat much—not because he isn't hungry, but simply because he's still thinking about how light his wallet was when he handed it over earlier in the day and he's not sure how much longer he's going to be able to stretch out the loan from Asher.

He figures he shouldn't really hold it against Applebee's, considering it's a restaurant he could actually afford to eat at on a good day. It's also a dying chain, and in a lot of ways he feels like he gets how it must feel, slowly deteriorating from the inside out. Fading into obscurity whilst news outlets simultaneously blame an entire generation for your slow demise.

In his case, he only has to blame himself. So maybe that's why he's so bitter.

Riley seems right at home, carrying on most of the conversation with an impressive amount of enthusiasm. Lucas starts to notice little things about her while she rambles on—the way she tilts her head back and forth when she's trying to find the right word, her own subconscious giggle she tacks on to the end of sentences, how easy it is to drop a joke right as she's taking a drink of water that she has to fight not to cough up from laughing.

"You need to stop!" she whines after the third time she nearly chokes, leaning back in her seat and shaking her head at him. "I'm going to choke, then I'm going to have respiratory failure, and then you'll have killed me."

Lucas grins, gazed trained on the straw wrapper he's absentmindedly looping around his fingers. "Well, as the stray hitchhiker you picked up on the side of the road, I think I would simply be fulfilling my stereotypical role."

Something in her expression indicates that the thought had crossed her mind before. "See, you kid, but the more you joke about it the more I'm starting to wonder."

He locks eyes with her, giving her a mock look of surprise that she easily mirrors. He's thinking about how goofy she is and how it's really sort of endearing and how he's not sure when they'll break eye contact when their server swoops in, breaking him out of the moment.

"Everything going okay over here?" she asks them, smiling and placing a hand on her hip. Lucas eyes the nametag pinned to her uniform, indicating that the bubbly blonde is named Darby. For all her friendliness and good nature, he has to wonder what karma granted her the misfortune of being stuck in an Applebee's in the middle of nowhere.

Riley nods politely, returning the beam. "I think we're ready for the check."

"Coming right up."

Lucas glances over his shoulder to watch her disappear. He's already doing the mental math to figure out how he's going to scrape by this meal—an even greater challenge considering he's trying not to make a scene in front of Riley.

He doesn't even realize he's ripped the straw wrapper until it tears apart in his fingers. He tries to brush it away before Riley notices.

"God," she sighs, slouching back again and pulling out her wallet. "You know, I knew going into this that it was going to be pricey. I mean, it's a cross-country road trip and all. But I feel like I'm draining my wallet. I feel like I'm living one of those economics modules we did in high school where I get electronically scolded for going out to eat too much. Scarcity and budgeting and all that."

Lucas isn't sure Riley even begins to grasp the concept of scarcity. "Right."

"But it is what it is." She taps her debit card on the edge of the table. "Capitalism."

An idea strikes him as her card hits the tabletop. It's his usual method for getting out of sticky financial situations, yet he never, ever considered pulling it in front of Riley. It's not something he's necessarily proud of, but it's hard to be proud of most things he does when he's literally trying not to go flat broke.

But here she is, complaining about finances. The window of opportunity is open, and he has no idea how much longer it'll be until Darby returns and lays down a road block in front of him. If he wants any hope of continuing this journey without opening a can of worms—multiple cans of multiple worms—he knows he has to swallow his pride and think fast.

"You know," he says casually, picking at a hangnail on his thumb in the absence of the straw wrapper. "There's a chance we won't have to pay."

Riley's eyes are wide. "What?"

"It's no big deal. I've done it before."

"Are you serious?" The horrified look on her face is admittedly a little more severe than he was anticipating. "Are you suggesting we dine and dash?"

"What? No!" Riley lets out a huge sigh of relief and Lucas finds himself laughing in spite of himself, waving off her concern. "No, I'm not saying that. Jeez, who do you think I am? Do you think we're in an episode of _What Would You Do_ right now?"

"Okay, look, when you just start saying we're not gonna pay…" Her facial features soften as she realizes her mistake, a sheepish smile growing across her face. "Go on, then. What were you going to say?"

"Well, in my time on the long and winding road, I may have picked up a trade skill or two. And one that has served me quite well in my many wise years is the art of schemes."

She gives him a look, but she's still smiling. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm great at scamming people to get free stuff." At the bemused expression on her face he raises his hands in surrender. "You asked. I figured I'd state it simply. I'm very talented at working people to get them to give me things for a lower or free price. It's my one great gift in life."

"No," she says, pursing her lips. "Mm-mm."

"What? Why are you shaking your head like that?"

"Because I don't buy it for one second."

"You don't buy it?" Lucas repeats incredulously, raising his eyebrows at her. "You don't think I can do it."

"I just don't see it." She squints at him, thoughtfully running a finger along the rim of her glass. "You don't seem like a schemer. There's something about your eyes. They're too honest. I feel like they would give you away."

"These eyes can do wonders. I'm very charming."

"Oh, okay." Her laughter is more than charming than he thinks he could ever be. "If you say so."

She's obviously not convinced. Lucas considers this an open challenge, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter as Darby wanders back over to them with the same cheerful grin on her face. Before she can lay the check on the table, he speaks up.

"Oh, excuse me," he says politely, doing his best to come across a very precise combination of harmless and engaging. Darby turns her attention to him, curiosity lighting up her features. "I feel terrible bringing this up now, we really should've mentioned it sooner but—well, it's my friend's birthday."

Riley is staring at him, caught between fascination and shock. She glances at Darby for a split second, shaking her head only slightly. It's more of a reflex movement than a convincing denial.

"Yeah, see, it's her birthday, and Applebee's is like her favorite place in the entire world." He usually sprinkles in a little bit a truth so that the story feels a little easier to sell. "So here we are, and I know it's silly of us to bring it up now, but my friend is really shy so she didn't want to burden you all with it. Isn't she just the sweetest?"

Darby touches her hand lightly to her chest, giving Riley a warm smile. For all intents and purposes, Lucas can tell she's taking the bait.

Riley isn't helping matters. She waves her hands subtly, shaking her head and trying to downplay the situation as much as she possibly can. Her voice is barely above a murmur. "He's lying. He's completely lying."

"Oh, come on. There's no point in being bashful now." Lucas grins at her, sharing a fond smile with Darby. "See? So shy. Won't even admit it's her own birthday. A blessing and a curse. She's lucky she's so cute, you know?"

Riley's cheeks are redder than he's ever seen them. Darby is eating it up, obviously enraptured with the dynamic they've got going on.

Lucas figures he's only got a few more cards to play to seal the deal. He gestures Darby closer, leaning in as if he's going to tell her a secret. It's a trick he picked up from one of the gang dens outside Houston—as frightening as gangs of cowboys can really get—that to really gain an ally in a situation you have to make them feel like a friend. Inside jokes, closer interactions, really make them feel like they're in on the game.

He figures he should give the fellas down at Tombstone Roadhouse a call sometime. He also decides from the look on her face that he's never, ever telling Riley about the fellas at Tombstone Roadhouse.

"She didn't want me to tell you, because she hates making a big deal out of things," Lucas murmurs, just loud enough for Riley to hear. He keeps an eye on her out of the corner of his eye but maintains focus on Darby, trying to be as charming as he possibly can. "But between you and me, I feel like she really deserves the recognition. She's just the absolute best, you know, and to be honest—,"

He hesitates, putting on a show of deciding whether or not to reveal this big secret. Darby is completely wrapped up in it, hanging on his every word.

"I'm thinking about asking her to be my girlfriend. And it would probably do me a lot of good if I could pull something impressive here tonight. You know what I mean?"

Darby's eyes light up, a knowing smile growing across her face. "I sure do. Let me see what I can do."

Lucas gives her a grin and a grateful nod as she traipses away with the check, waiting until she's well out of sight to turn his gaze back on Riley. Her mouth is hanging open, dumbstruck by what she just witnessed.

Lucas slouches back in his seat and gives her an eyebrow raise, lifting his glass of water to chew on his straw. "You can put your debit card away."

"Terrible," she says.

He cracks up, sitting up straight again. "Oh, come on."

"You're terrible," she repeats, shaking her head. Even so, she obediently slides her debit card back into her wallet. "You're a terrible, horrible person."

"Oh, you asked for it. You totally wanted to see it! You didn't believe it and I simply proved a point. Besides, look, it's not like I'm running out conning people left and right. I have standards. I have rules."

She snorts. "Okay, you have _standards_ for cheating people out of money? You have rules?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, I'd love to hear them." She clasps her hands on the table in front of her, and Lucas has to admit he finds her prudence somewhat adorable. "I'd love to hear what rules you could put on scheming."

He drops his glass, matching her rigid pose for theatricality and clearing his throat. He lifts his hand and raises his last three fingers. "The rules of scheming are three-fold."

"Here we go."

"One. Schemes can only be pulled in chain establishments, essentially corporations rather than small business. This is for the exact purpose of avoiding your 'cheating people out of money' argument. I'm not trying to scam the fine folk of family business here."

Riley hesitates, ultimately nodding. "Go on."

"Two. A server should always be left a tip regardless, even if the meal is free. When applicable, of course. Considering you doubted my skill, I believe it would only be fair for you to spot that one this time around."

Riley rolls her eyes, reaching into her wallet and pulling out a few bills. She lays them down on the tabletop, locking eyes with him as she relents.

"And lastly, three. No other workers or patrons should be harmed in the framing of a scheme. Only those involved in the scheme go down with the scheme."

There's a long pause as Riley processes, finally unclasping her hands and laying them flat on the table. "I suppose that's more honorable than I originally thought."

"I'm glad you think so."

Darby returns a moment later, grinning and placing the check in front of Lucas. Her eyes are on Riley though, excitement dancing across her features. "It's on the house. Happy birthday."

She makes an indistinct noise in response, handing over the cash. "Keep the change."

As they're walking out, Lucas mentally patting himself on the back for a crisis successfully avoided, Riley poses another question.

"Is this your way of getting back at me for Applebee's? Are you going to pull one of these every time we step foot in one?"

"I don't know," he admits. He hadn't considered such a tactic, but it suddenly feels very tempting. "I guess we'll see, won't we?"

She narrows her eyes at him before climbing back into the driver's seat, having confiscated the keys from him after his scheme until further notice. Still, she seems more awake behind the wheel than she has in the last couple of days, so he figures his brief stint of driving did her some good.

At the end of the day, that's all he can ask for.

* * *

Riley is still attempting to give him the cold shoulder when they get to the motel for the night, only she's forced to acknowledge their situation when the concierge informs her that there are no more available rooms for him to pick up.

Lucas is already planning out how he'll make the back of her car a comfortable resting place for the night when Riley squints up at him, obviously thinking. "Just the one room will be fine, I think. Two keys?"

He certainly wasn't expecting her to allow her anywhere near her past the midnight hour, but he's not going to turn down an actual bed. After getting to sleep in one at Dylan's the night before, it was going to be tough going again without it.

Still, he's aware of just how much more deeply his debt is growing, and he doesn't want to jinx the good dynamic they have going. So he reminds himself to be on his best behavior.

Riley continues her icy routine the moment they arrive at their room, disappearing into the bathroom as soon as they drop their bags on the beds. He'd be more concerned if it weren't for the fact that she's admittedly pretty terrible at icing him out. She couldn't even maintain the silent treatment in the car for longer than a few minutes, but he appreciates the theatrics.

He chalks it up to the fact that she's probably lonely and desperate for conversation, but he allows himself the slight satisfaction of thinking maybe, just maybe, it has something to do with him.

His good mood is quickly soured when he gets a good look at his palm as he's shrugging off his jacket, scuffing his skin on the material on accident and wincing. It's tender from his fall off the fence behind Chubbie's, and the scrapes don't look like they're doing much healing.

Lucas doesn't even want to look at his knee. Considering it's been lightly stinging since he landed on it, he figures whatever he finds under his jeans won't be pretty.

"Oh my God, what happened?"

Before he can register her words properly Riley is at his side, taking the sleeve of his shirt and turning him to face her. He wants to say something to soften the blow, to convince her it's really not as bad as it looks, but the sudden physical contact catches him off-guard and leaves him struggling to find the right words.

"It's nothing."

"This is not nothing," she argues, concern etched in her features. She drops her hand from his arm to take his fingers instead, scrutinizing the scrapes on his palm. "How long have you had this?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, avoiding an answer. She locks eyes with him, giving him an expectant look. She evidently has no intention of backing down.

"How long?"

He hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek. He can feel the embarrassment making his cheeks hot. "When you picked me up, well when you ran into me, I had… I tripped. Earlier."

"Oh my God, that was days ago," she says in exasperation. She runs her thumb over the skin. "It's going to get infected. Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"It's really not a big deal. I've had worse."

She doesn't seem impressed. "I don't care, that doesn't negate what you have now. Sit down, I'm gonna clean it up."

"It's fine—,"

"Sit down, would you?" she insists, lightly nudging him back towards the edge of the bed.

Lucas obliges, more out of surprise from being touched so casually than an actual desire to get patched up. His cheeks are still warm, and he's mentally kicking himself for letting Riley get all worked up over something he's definitely survived before.

She unzips her backpack and pulls out a small red first aid kit. He watches her retrieve some rubbing alcohol and a cotton ball, wandering back over to him before holding out a hand impatiently.

He places his hand in hers, palm facing up. She doesn't comment as she gets to work on disinfecting the cuts, lightly dabbing the cotton against his skin. When he winces, she isn't sympathetic.

"It would've hurt less if you treated it when you got it. Really, you should've told me the moment you got in my car. I've always got my kit. I don't travel without it."

"Commendable."

Riley ignores the sharp tone in his voice, glaring at him. "Any other injuries I should take care of while we're at it?"

Lucas shrugs indiscriminately. It's his nonchalance that gives him away, Riley raising an eyebrow at him critically.

He fidgets restlessly. "Left knee."

She gestures for him to show her, stepping back to get another cotton ball as he brings his leg up to roll up his jeans. Getting a look at the damage for himself first, he's grateful to see it's not nearly as bad as he was envisioning when he was actively avoiding it. Nothing unfixable, at least.

Riley sighs as she sees it for herself, shaking her head as she dabs a fresh round of disinfectant on his knee. Lucas is a bit impressed she's seemingly unaffected by having to treat a complete stranger's knee wound. A hand is one thing, but a knee seems a little more personal than new friends should have to confront.

Sure, Riley doesn't quite feel like a stranger to him anymore. But he's fairly certain that strange sense of serendipity is not reciprocated, and he doesn't feel great putting this level of familiarity on her.

She dabs on a layer of Neosporin for good measure before grabbing some Band-Aids, holding up two different kinds and tilting her head. "You want Ninja Turtles or Mickey Mouse?"

"I don't need a Band-Aid."

"Ninja Turtles, or Mickey Mouse?"

He waits an inordinate amount of time before giving in. "Mickey Mouse," he grumbles.

She closes the kit, rejoining him and handing him one of the Band-Aids. He sticks it on his knee and readjusts his jeans, more than a little bemused when Riley doesn't immediately give him the next one. Instead, she reaches forward and pulls his hand back into hers.

His face is warm again, but it's not due to embarrassment this time. He doesn't quite know what it is, but it's suddenly harder to breathe.

Riley concentrates as she peels open the Band-Aid and sticks it on his palm, draping it back between his thumb and forefinger. She presses her thumb into his skin to secure it, waiting a few moments before turning his hand over in her fingers to make sure he's all clear.

Not that he has a very large frame of reference, but he's never met someone with such a delicate touch before. Her fingers are gentle despite her determination, and he feels a little tingly every place where her fingertips brushed against his skin.

He swallows. He nervously has to wonder if she can hear how hard his heart is pounding.

"Ninja Turtles?" he blurts out, hoping to break the tension he imagines only he can feel.

She smiles, nodding. "Auggie's choice. He's the one I used them on the most often, so I gave him a little bit of ownership over the whole ordeal."

"Ah."

"Mickey, on the other hand, is a personal favorite." She drops his hand. "So you made a very wise choice."

"Oh. What a relief."

The true relief is the smile that spreads across her face. As minimally intimidating as it was, Lucas wasn't exactly a fan of getting the cold shoulder or the scolding—even if he knows he likely deserved it.

They share another moment, one of those timeless exchanges where he feels rooted to the spot and has no idea if he has it in him to look away from her. He's always been one to avoid eye contact, lay low and keep out of sight, but something about Riley makes him want to be seen. He's beginning to think she's impossible not to look at.

Thankfully, she breaks first. She dips her head down, backing off a bit and pushing some hair behind her ear. "Better get some rest. Early morning tomorrow to get to Nashville."

"Yeah, yeah. Yeah."

He's out of better words, and it seems like she is too. They both settle in for the night without much more to say, but Lucas has plenty to think about when the lights go off and the room settles into silence save for the air conditioning and the distant sound of crickets outside the window.

His biggest wonder is if his heart is ever going to stop pounding, or if one touch from his friendly road companion is going to put him on adrenaline forever.

* * *

Lucas wouldn't say he has trouble sleeping, but there are definitely nights in his track record where he got more stress than sleep in the hours before the sun rises. It's never a consistent thing, he wouldn't call himself an insomniac or anything, but when the sleeplessness decides to hit it's never a pleasant experience and it's a long night of restless energy until the sun peeks over the horizon and allows him the peace of mind of a new day.

Tonight, unfortunately, is one of those nights.

He was hoping it wouldn't happen while he's with Riley, because the last thing he wants to do is ruin her sleep. The universe has rarely been his friend though, and it seems this journey isn't going to be any different. He spends about an hour tossing and turning as quietly as he possibly can before he finally gets to his feet, grabbing his jacket off the armchair and slipping out into the hall.

Before he met Riley, Lucas's biggest ambition was always just to get out of Texas. He didn't care how and didn't care when, he didn't care about doing it alone with nothing on his back and nothing in his pocket. He just wanted to get out. And it's a bit of a shock to realize that for all intents and purposes, he did. He's in an entirely different state, far away from the Sundance strip and everything still festering there. All the stuff he was running from, all the things he left behind.

But now that he's sitting out on the wooden steps of a dingy motel in the middle of the night, surrounded by cars but arguably isolated, he can't imagine himself making this trek alone. The traveling, the actual act of crossing state lines and moving forward with momentum, he could handle.

Stranded alone with nothing but the night and his thoughts, however. That's something else.

It's harder to push certain thoughts away without the distractions of the day time. He's done an impressively good job of not thinking about Pappy Joe, but when he's alone it feels like all he can think about. Possibly because he didn't think about him enough when he was alive to appreciate it.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets, hesitating when he feels the increasingly familiar texture of napkin paper in his hand. Pulling it out, he gets another long look at the phone number scrawled hastily into the tissue. The last real connection he has to his family, if he steps up and makes the call.

He should do it. There's a pay phone across the street at the gas station, and he's got enough spare change in his pockets to make one call. It doesn't have to last long, but he could do it. He should do it. He knows he should.

But he's a coward. He's a coward, and he already ran once. No point in going back only to start running again. He's so good at running.

He chews his lip until the metallic taste of blood shakes him out of it. He shakes his head, stuffing the napkin back in his pocket. He won't throw it away, but he won't do anything about it either. He's caught in an in-between place, just like the Sundance strip. No going backwards, no going forward.

Just stuck.

Part of him wonders if he could wake up Riley. If he could wake her up and tell her everything he's thinking and everything he's obsessing over and everything that's keeping him from being in there asleep like her. Maybe she would know what to do to fix it. Maybe she would know how to help him figure out exactly what it is that's keeping him up, because he knows he doesn't have a clue.

But he can't. He's been a hassle enough already. No matter how many jokes he cracks or schemes he comes with to cover it, he's bleeding her dry of charity and he knows it. It's a con he doesn't intend to pull but can't seem to stop, and she's so generous she's going to let him freeload off of her all the way to New York.

He can't do that. He can't do that to her, when she's been nothing but nice to him and he doesn't even want to freeload off her in the first place. She's not Darby, she's not some plain waitress at another uniform chain restaurant that he can charm. He doesn't want to scam her. She doesn't deserve it, and he doesn't deserve all the generosity she's offered him so far.

Before he can think it through he finds himself on his feet, jogging down the steps and heading towards the street.

He's going to go. He's just going to go, take the burden off her shoulders. Then when he's back on his own, he'll figure out his next plan. He's doing her a favor. He's saving himself more trouble than he recognizes. Something about her touch is still lingering with him, haunting him in a way he can't shake off. It's a warning, spelling out trouble thousands of miles away.

His feet stop at the side of the road. The gas station still glows at him from across the street. Lights twinkle in either direction along the road for miles before dissolving into darkness, coloring the unknown. It's hard to make out where the lights stop when his vision is so blurred.

He could dissolve. He could disappear. He's done it before.

He's so good at running.

The sudden blare of a horn shakes him out of it, Lucas scrambling out of the way just as a truck barrels past him. He's aglow in the headlights for a few brief seconds before the truck is well on its way into the darkness, leaving him stranded once again.

But the pounding of his heart does remind him he's alive. The same kind of vague reminder he got when Riley patched up his hand.

His fingers pick at the Mickey Mouse Band-Aid, peeling the edge of it before he manages to stop himself from removing it entirely.

He could head down the street into the darkness. He could cross the street and throw a quarter into the pay phone and call his mother. He could do a lot if his feet would just move.

Stuck.

Lucas does neither, turning around and heading back up the stairs of the motel.

When he returns to the room he slips back inside as silently as his can, dropping his jacket back on the armchair and crawling back onto his bed. Despite his best efforts, however, Riley's voice speaks to him through the silence.

"Lucas?"

He nearly jumps out of his skin, another rush of adrenaline going through him. "Yeah, it's me."

"Is everything okay?"

He's grateful her voice is a bit slurred, indicating she's not quite awake. He didn't really wake her up—it's more like she's sleep-talking than having an actual conversation with him. She likely won't remember it in the morning.

Still, the question has an effect on him he can't quite explain. Some of the panic tingling across his back recedes.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Go back to sleep."

"Okay."

Lucas prepares to follow his own advice, crawling back under the covers and willing himself to relax. He fiddles with the loose end of his Band-Aid, smoothing it back down against his skin. After a few moments of silence, he clears his throat.

"Riley?"

Her name sounds uncertain coming from his lips. He's not sure he wants to address her so directly. He's not sure he really has the right.

She hums in response, a mixture of curiosity and confusion. He doesn't know what he wanted to tell her exactly, but the acknowledgement of his request is enough. It's the same impact as the handhold, and the Band-Aid—the undeniable reminder that he's alive, and he's not alone.

"Goodnight," he says softly.

There's a brief pause. He guesses she's probably fallen back asleep.

"Goodnight, Lucas."

* * *

Lucas elects to pretend the previous evening never happened, back to his specialty blend of upbeat cynicism when morning rolls around and the two of them are heading out towards the car.

"Nashville here we come," Riley says enthusiastically, giving him a grateful smile as he holds out his hand to take her bag. She leans against the window as he tosses both their bags in the back. "The first destination picked under your guidance. Are you excited?"

He closes the back door. "Oh, so excited I couldn't sleep."

Not entirely a lie. But not exactly the truth either.

Typical.

Riley waits to respond until they're both situated back in their seats, turning the key in the ignition and adjusting the mirrors. "Yeah, I was wondering whether I dreamt that or not."

He glances at her. "Dreamt what?"

"Just that you came back pretty late. Well, I don't have a time or anything, but I'm fairly sure it was late." She looks over her shoulder as she backs out of the parking lot, sticking her tongue out a bit in concentration. "Hence why I'm driving. I don't know if I trust your ability to operate a vehicle on so little sleep."

"Hey, now. I would be perfectly fine. I've got keen senses."

"Keen," she says, humming appreciatively. Her teasing smile is infectious. "Nice vocabulary."

"Thank you, I try." Lucas relaxes back against the seat as they return back out onto the open road, nothing but traffic and miles of road ahead of them. He gazes around him, impressed at how comfortable he feels in her hatchback after so little time. How familiar it feels. "Does it have a name?"

Riley raises her eyebrows. "I'm sorry?"

"The car. What's its name?"

Her expression is completely blank. She blinks a couple of times. "Uh, VW Hatchback?"

"You've had this car since your first year of college and you haven't named it?" Lucas asks incredulously. "That's insane. That's like, the first thing you do when you get a car. Who are you?"

"Oh, forgive me please," she says sarcastically, a hint of defense in her tone. "I didn't realize there was a rule."

"It's unspoken, but everyone follows it." He sits up a little straighter, bringing his foot up and resting his elbow against his knee. "Like, when I borrowed my pappy's ancient pick-up in tenth grade, I called her Sheila. But that's barely a fair example since she wasn't really mine. My buddy Dylan though, he got this used car from the dealership for his sixteenth birthday and that was a big deal because it was all his. He called her Faith because he has this weird fixation on Faith Hill."

Riley's face is colored with amusement. "And that makes it a set rule."

"Sure enough!" Lucas grins at her, faltering a bit when he realizes just how much he had been talking. He can tell because his mouth feels drier than usual, and he's starting to drop a little more slang than he had previously—a natural tick he falls into when talking too fast, which usually means too much.

Riley is far smarter and far more refined than any person he's ever shared a car with before, so he's trying really hard to match her level. It's impossible and he knows it, but the least he can do is not talk like a hick.

"Okay, okay," she relents, doing him the courtesy of not commenting on the reemergence of his drawl. "How do you know your car's gender? Cars don't have to conform to societal norms regarding gender and sexuality, do they?"

"Probably not. We just assumed ours were girls. Most people go with the opposite gender of themselves."

Riley makes a face. "There has to be some kind of psychological study on that."

"Maybe."

"So, then. This bad boy needs a name." She gives him a look, nodding accordingly. "Go on."

"What?"

She laughs, shrugging. Her eyes stay on the road, but Lucas is pretty certain they're twinkling. "You have far more car-naming expertise than me. I trust you to bestow upon my dear vehicle the correct identifier."

Lucas hums, making a point of thinking critically. "I'll mull it over."

* * *

The decision isn't made until a couple hours later, just an hour outside the city limits of Nashville. Riley stops for gas and disappears into the station to buy a water, leaving him to watch the pump.

She takes a unexpectedly long time and the Tennessee heat starts to take its toll, Lucas shedding his jean jacket and tossing it back into the passenger seat. He sighs and leans back against the hood of the car, searching for the right name in his head and staring out at the horizon lined with trees. It feels absolutely unreachable and startlingly close all at once.

The sky is pale blue, slowly fading into dull grey as storm clouds drift across the plains. Lucas has never minded rain, but he finds himself thankful the downpour seems to be headed in the other direction.

As Riley exits the store and jogs back over to him, suddenly it hits him.

"Dave," he declares.

"Actually, it's Riley."

He can't help but laugh, dropping his head down slightly and clearing his throat. Riley matches his smile, pulling the pump from the back of the car. "I meant the car. His name is Dave."

"Dave," she repeats, trying it out for herself. She raises an eyebrow at him, then examines the car in front of her. Finally, she pats the roof fondly and nods in agreement. "Dave."

As they climb back in the car, Riley situates her phone back on the median between the seats, pausing when she spots something of interest in the midst of all her things. "What's this?"

Lucas raises his head to find what she's talking about, feeling his breath catch in his throat when he sees his napkin in her fingers. It must've fallen out of his pocket when he took off his jacket. He immediately reaches out to grab it. "It's nothing."

"It's definitely not _nothing_. You wouldn't just walk around with a plain napkin in your pocket." She holds it out of his grasp, squinting at Asher's messy scrawl. "Is this a phone number?"

"It's nothing," he insists.

Even in his embarrassment, he has to admit to himself that her amused beam is pretty cute. She wiggles her eyebrows. "Ooh, a phone number. Who's phone number would you be carrying around on a napkin, Mr. Sundance? Some waitress from the diner down the street?"

"It's not like that. It's…" He swallows, attempting to snatch it again but missing. "It's my mom's."

"Okay, yeah, sure," she says mockingly. "Because everyone just carries their mom's number in their pocket. Am I supposed to believe you don't already have her number saved?"

"Well, you should," Lucas hisses. "Considering I don't have a phone."

He regrets the words the moment they leave his lips. In one sentence, he lost his temper and ruined the entire conversation. In one sentence, he revealed more about himself than he ever intended to—naturally, the specific facts about his current situation that he is trying explicitly to keep from Riley.

The stunned expression on her face doesn't help. He swallows, slouching back in his seat and looking out the window instead.

"I'm sorry." He hears Riley place the napkin back down on the median. Her voice is soft. "I didn't know."

The pity in her tone is worse than the shock. He retrieves the napkin without looking at it, stuffing it back into his jean jacket at his feet. "It's fine."

Having backed them into a conversational ditch, Lucas stews in his own self-resentment as Riley focuses on getting back on the road. She doesn't have anything to say, and he can't blame her considering his terrible attitude. Not to mention he knows in his heart nothing she said would make him feel any better. Nothing would be a satisfying response.

He's never satisfied. It's part of the reason he's always restless. Always running.

He finds himself thinking about the darkness of last night again. Thinking maybe he should've gone into it after all. Or maybe not jumped out of the way when he heard the horn of the truck.

"You know, you can use my phone any time you need it," Riley murmurs, breaking him out of his own thoughts. "Seriously."

The offer is sincere, and Lucas knows she means well. But as he expected, the generosity just makes him feel even more pathetic.

He forces the disgruntlement out of his tone anyway. Or tries to, at least. "Thanks."

"In fact, I need you to use it now," she continues, ignoring the curt quality to his response. "Dave's too quiet. We need some music. Can you pick something?"

It's a distraction technique if he's ever seen one, but he'll take it. Anything to move on from the disaster he created.

He gingerly picks up her phone, clicking the home button. There's a picture of her hugging a smaller, curly-haired boy set as the lock screen—considering the similarity of their features, he can only assume it's Auggie, just a bit older than the picture she has in her wallet. "Passcode?"

She tears her eyes away from the road momentarily to key in the numbers, gripping the steering wheel extra tight as if to compensate for her brief reckless behavior.

"Am I just supposed to pick whatever you have?"

"Well, if by that you mean whatever you want, then yes." She nods in his direction. "Click Spotify. The green one with the black lines. Then type in whatever you want."

His jaw drops slightly as the app loads, fingering hovering over the magnifying glass on the bottom of the screen. "You can play whatever you want? How the hell do you have every song on the planet? That doesn't seem financially possible."

"It's a membership thing." She tosses a glance at him, tilting her head slightly. "You've never heard of Spotify. Like, at all?"

Lucas is a bit too preoccupied to respond, typing in every obscure song he can think of and shaking his head in disbelief when the app pulls up the song within seconds—along with multiple versions and songs similar to it below. He exhales.

"Holy cow."

He knows he must seem completely wild, like a martian or something equally oblivious. Riley's sneaking glances at him as often as she can manage, obviously entertained by his blatant fascination.

He finally settles on an artist he's familiar with, placing her phone back on the median as The Beatles start filtering in through the speakers. Riley listens for a few moments before making a face, giving him an intrigued eyebrow raise.

"So no Spotify, but you're familiar with The Beatles?"

"Please," he says, reclining back again and willing the tension in his shoulders to disappear. "Everyone in the English-speaking world knows The Beatles. Heck, everyone in the world, period, knows The Beatles."

"Fair point, fair point. Just wasn't what I was expecting."

Lucas matches her intrigued look. "What _were_ you expecting?"

"I don't know. Um…"

"Country? Is that what you were thinking?" He gasps. "Are you stereotyping me?"

"I never said that," she says quickly, raising a finger to silence him. "I said no such thing."

He crosses his legs, propping his ankle on his knee. "I'll have you know I am a wild, undefinable creature of nature. I will not be put into a box. You can't simplify me that easily."

"Yeah," she says, giving him a smirk. The twinkle in her eye is back. "So I'm learning."

* * *

Nashville is both everything Lucas imagined it would be and yet not at all like his expectations.

It's his first taste of a city aside from Austin, but it feels entirely different. He always wanted to see "the city," but he's quickly realizing that is a taller order than just one stop. It's strange to discover that every single destination on their road map, whether they're hitting them up or not, has a feeling and a life and a culture distinctly unique that cannot be replicated.

The city is a phrase that means something different for every one of its variants, so he's nowhere near close to completing his mission. It's like the horizon line—startlingly close but also impossible to reach.

Riley joins him on the passenger side as he climbs out of the car, a bright beam on her lips. She's practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I have something for you."

"Uh, what?"

"Hold out your hand, please. And close your eyes."

It's a lot to ask of him all at once. "Why?"

Riley deflates a bit, rolling her eyes. "Would you trust me please? I put my life in your hands, the least you could do is offer me yours when I ask."

He can't argue with that logic. He sighs loudly, closing his eyes and holding out his hand, palm facing up.

"No need to be dramatic," she says playfully. In the next moment, something boxy and plastic lands in his fingers. "Okay, open."

He obliges, not sure what to expect but never guessing he'd find a camera in his hand. Nothing fancy, just a disposable camera that can't cost more than seven dollars even in the priciest range. But it's something, and it's in his hands with no expectation of return or repayment.

He stares at it for a long moment before lifting his eyes to meet hers. "A camera?"

"It's not charity," she says hastily before he can form the accusation himself. "I actually got it at the gas station before we talked about… the phone thing. I know I have my camera and my phone and stuff but I wasn't sure what you had for picture-taking purposes, so I grabbed this on my way out. And now it's yours."

Lucas is at a loss for words. A lot of thoughts run through his head—kindness, pity, debt—but none of those are the word he finally manages to spit out.

"Vintage."

She laughs, gesturing for him to do something with it. "Go on, give it a try."

He squints at the small rectangle acting as his lens, using his thumb to spin the small gear to wind up the film. Turning around and looking through the viewfinder to the city of Nashville around him, he snaps a picture and hears the tell-tale click alerting him that he captured the shot.

Pulling the camera back from his face, he shrugs. "Cool. Won't be able to see any of them though."

"Well, that's part of the fun," Riley assures him optimistically, bounding over to join him and gently prying the camera from his fingers. She flips it around to look at it. "Taking all the pictures we want, not caring how they'll turn out. Maybe they'll turn out really amazing because we're not being as nitpicky."

She stretches out her arms and holds the camera to face them, selfie style. Glancing over her shoulder at him, she makes a face at his disdainful expression as he squints in the sun.

"Come on, the least you could do is smile."

He maintains the expression for a bit longer before flashing a grin. It only lasts a second but Riley's timing is impeccable, snapping the photo just quickly enough to grab the moment.

She pulls back her arm excitedly as if to check the result, only to remember that it'll be a while and that that's supposedly part of the fun. She smiles instead, returning it to him. "Bet that one'll be cute."

"Well, we'll see, I'm sure."

Although he's initially reluctant to accept the gift, Lucas finds himself having a great time with the disposable. He takes a ton of pictures—of the architecture, of the people, of the city pulsing around them—but he figures he breaks a record with how many photos he takes of Riley. He convinces himself she just happens to end up in every shot, but he also gets the feeling his reel will be better for it.

She brightens every setting she steps into, and her smile speaks for itself. It's hard not to smile because of it.

He's heard the claim that it takes more muscles to frown than to smile, but with all the grinning he's done in the last few days he feels like his mouth is getting a more serious workout than it has in his entire life. His jaw hurts by the time they're heading back to the car, Riley rambling on and the sun setting over Nashville behind them.

* * *

By the time they get to their motel in Franklin a few hours later, Lucas has passed the drowsy stage of sleep deprivation and has parlayed right into the energized overtired phase. He's nowhere near ready to crash, and he's got a weird spring to his step as they enter the room.

He blames all the smiling. It can't be good for his health.

"Can I ask you a question?" Riley asks, dropping her bag on her bed and eyeing him curiously.

He mirrors the motion on his side of the room. "Think I'd be offended if you didn't."

"What do you carry in that thing?" She gestures to his backpack. "It's all you lug around but it can't hold that much. It's not very big at all."

Lucas hesitates, debating whether or not to give in to a bad idea as it hits him. But this trip has never been full of good ideas, so he finds himself smiling as he climbs onto the bed, plopping his backpack on his lap and unzipping it.

"You're in luck. I'm feeling generous this evening, so I'll give you the exclusive run-down."

"Aw," she chirps, hopping onto her bed and laying on her stomach. She props her chin on her hands, kicking her legs idly in the air as she watches him. "I'm honored, truly."

"So, first of all, clothes," he says matter-of-factly, pulling out his very limited selection of shirts and jeans. "Got to rotate them out, you know, for fashion's sake."

"Right, of course."

He places them on the bed next to him, continuing to paw through his bag. He retrieves a plastic bag, holding it up pointedly. "Toiletries. A well-groomed hitchhiker is a happy hitchhiker."

"You don't say."

"Well, technically, no," he admits. "But people are way less likely to let you tag along in their car if you reek. And I'm very into personal hygiene. Got to have one aspect of my life put together."

She nods, tilting her head at him. "You smell perfectly nice."

"Appreciate it." He pulls out the rest of the items buried beneath the essentials. "Note pad. Lighter. Water bottle—but it's empty so it's not really very useful. Deck of cards—,"

"Wait, wait," she interrupts, holding up a hand and giving him a curious look. "Deck of cards? Why do you have cards?"

He feigns surprise. "God, Riley, you should always keep a deck of cards on you. You never know when you're going to need it."

"What?"

"I'll have you know, this deck of cards has saved my life more than a couple of times. Sometimes you have to get yourself out of tricky situation, and the easiest way to even the playing field is propose a game." He reaches into the box and pulls out the deck, shuffling them against his knee. "Bet your life on a poker game and hope you're lucky."

Riley's eyes are wide, alight with both horror and skepticism. "You are kidding, right?"

He shrugs mysteriously.

"I've always wanted to learn poker," she admits, climbing back into a sitting position. "There were a ton of chances in college and I just never took them."

Lucas pauses, tapping the deck against his knee and clearing his throat indicatively. "Well, no time like the present."

"You'd teach me?"

"Sure. Not as if I don't owe you a favor or two."

She ignores his insinuation of debt, sliding down off the bed onto the floor between the beds and eagerly gesturing for him to join her.

Lucas runs her through the basics, explaining the betting system and the different types of hands she can get. She's an attentive listener, nodding along as he runs through details and only interrupting to ask clarifying questions. He notices she gets this little crinkle in her brow when she's concentrating, and it's a dead giveaway the first round they play as to how good or bad her hand is.

He's glad she doesn't have to play poker for the sake of her life.

"So that's the basics. I'd say we could play a round or two, but we don't really have much to bet."

Riley's eyes suddenly light up with an idea—there's a sense of mischief in her expression that he's never seen before. It makes him apprehensive, but he'd by lying if he claimed it wasn't the slightest bit charming.

"Maybe not, but I think I know how we can keep it interesting." She climbs to her feet, going to her own backpack. She digs around for a moment before pulling out the bottle of whiskey, giving him a challenging look and holding it loftily. "Loser has to drink."

"You just want to get that thing off your hands."

"Beside the point," she says offhandedly, joining him back on the floor and placing the bottle between them. "Game or no game?"

With the competitive edge thrown into the mix, her charm officially passes into attractive territory. Lucas feels his cheeks grow warm again.

But he's never been one to back down from a challenge. He leans back against the bed, grabbing the cards and shuffling them expertly. "Game."

Despite her rough start, Riley turns out to be an impressively fast learner. Although she's the one to break open the seal on the bottle and take the first couple of swigs, it isn't long until she's gloating over a winning hand and passing the bottle in his direction.

He swallows a mouthful and grimaces, screwing his eyes shut as the alcohol burns the back of his throat. Riley giggles at his expense. "Not a fan, huh?"

"No, no, you're mistaken. This is my enjoyment face."

As the buzz starts to settle in, both of them lose interest in the complexity of poker and find themselves switching games. A quarter through the bottle they're onto Blackjack, flipping cards with a sort of child-like franticness and slapping the floor as hard as they can when the jack appears on the top of the pile.

It's likely the alcohol, but accidentally smacking each other's hands is particularly amusing. Lucas has half his focus set on making sure he doesn't slap her too hard but she clearly doesn't have the same reservations, determined to hit the jack first regardless of whether or not he loses a hand in the process.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he blurts out after a rather harsh hit, falling back and losing his balance halfway through, landing on his side instead. Riley cracks up, falling back against her bedside and clapping her hands. Lucas cradles his hand, humming indignantly. "Foul. That's a foul."

"Foul?" she laughs. "There's no foul in Blackjack."

"Mhm, yes, there is, I just called it." She continues to hum disagreement. He points to the bottle. "Penalty. Take a shot."

"Oh, big punishment," she mocks, obliging. She shudders at the bitter taste. "Someone's not a very humble loser."

"Foul. Rudeness."

"Oh, really? Another foul? Who named you referee?"

"I did," he states, pointing at himself and nodding matter-of-factly. She descends into giggles, falling onto her back to match his height from the floor. "I vote new game."

"Okay. You can pick something else I'll beat you at. That's fine."

A brief debate ends with them starting a half-assed game of Go Fish, difficult to play competently as neither of them bother to get up off the floor. They go back and forth laying down for a couple rounds, giving up on the game when Lucas asks whether she has a three and she tosses her entire hand at him.

Somehow the focus drifts from cards to conversation, both of them talking in earnest tones and half-finished thoughts as the night wears on and the alcohol wears off. Lucas taps a card against the edge of the bedframe and tries his best to clear his head, invested in everything Riley has to say but certain he won't remember much of it in the morning.

Once the buzz starts to fade, Riley and Lucas manages to pull themselves back into sitting positions. He can formulate a coherent thought again, which he figures is a good sign. Riley sets herself to collecting the cards and sorting them before putting them back into the deck.

"I can't believe I never learned how to do that in four years of college."

"Drink?"

She laughs. "No. Poker. Kind of seems like something I should've picked up somewhere along the way." She lifts her eyes to meet his. "Must've had quite the poker prowess at your college."

"I wouldn't know, actually." The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. He avoids eye contact, picking at the hangnail on his thumb. "I didn't go to college."

Another painful silence. Lucas wants to be annoyed with himself, but he suddenly doesn't have the energy to care. Alcohol at least does him that favor.

"Well, you know, there's nothing wrong with that," Riley says encouragingly. Her words are still a bit spacy, but the sentiment behind them is genuine. "That's so okay. I had tons of friends who never went to college. It's so fine."

Lucas raises an eyebrow at her.

"Okay, that wasn't true."

"Figured," he mutters, reaching for the whiskey bottle.

"I don't have a ton of friends," she admits without hesitation. She giggles in spite of herself, shaking her head and sighing. "I don't even have a few friends. So not one bit of that statement was true."

He doesn't know how much of this conversation is the alcohol talking, but that was not something he expected to hear from her. In the short time he's known her, Riley has shown him more kindness and compassion than most people have in his entire life. The notion that she doesn't have all the friends in the world, let alone a solid few, seems absolutely ludicrous.

But the sobering expression on her face tells him it has to be true. Despite the sheer impossibility of the statement, it's one hundred percent true.

"Well, aren't we quite the pair?" he says flatly, leaning back against the bedframe and lifting the whiskey bottle. "Cheers."

He takes a sip, wincing and holding it out for her. After a second she takes it, taking a swig and mirroring his grimace.

She plops the bottle down between her legs, tilting her head and examining him. "What would you have studied?"

"Huh?"

"If you had gone to college," she says softly. "What would you have wanted to do?"

He's never, ever considered that question. No one has ever bothered to ask it. Considering all the effort he puts into avoiding the topic, when it does come up the usual response to his lack of higher education is usually to change the subject. Act as though the subject was never brought up.

But then here's Riley, looking him in the eyes and asking him what he wants to do with his life. Or would've, if he had a life.

"I don't know."

To his surprise, she smiles. "That's okay. Me neither."

His face is warm again. He blames it on the alcohol.

The alcohol also has the weird effect of heightening his attention to detail—he can't help but notice the slight flush to her cheeks and how long her eyelashes are. Her tendency to chew her bottom lip. How soft her lips look.

He can't but notice how brown Riley's eyes are. All his life he's heard how boring brown eyes are, how lucky he is to have green eyes and how captivating blue eyes are. Anything but brown. But he has to figure not enough people have met Riley Matthews and looked into her eyes, because he's sure at this point that he can ever look away from them. He can't think of anything nearly as captivating as her eyes.

"Why are you doing that?"

He blinks. "Doing what?"

She's chewing her lip again. She examines him for another moment, smiling shyly. "Looking at me like that."

"Oh, uh, no. I wasn't—," he stammers. He clears his throat, dropping his gaze down to his knees. "I wasn't doing anything. I wasn't… Yeah."

She doesn't seem swayed either way. She simply smirks, shrugging. "Okay."

It's only a few more minutes until they agree to head to bed, hoping to sleep off whatever is left of their buzz before they hit the road again in the morning.

Sleep comes much easier this time around. Lucas has never been much of a dreamer, but that night he finds those brown eyes popping up often enough for him to remember them.

* * *

A headache wakes Lucas up before Riley's alarm.

He's not too far ahead of schedule so it's not worth trying to go back to sleep. Instead, he grabs some ibuprofen and his bag, heading out onto the porch to get some fresh air.

It's funny how fresh air actually feels fresh out here. Texas had become suffocating enough that even the outdoors felt stale, like he was breathing in the same air over and over again. Funny how all it took was a generous brunette and a green hatchback named Dave to free him.

He breathes in the morning air, leaning forward against the rail and watching the world sleepily exist around him.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the candy bar from the general store, twirling it in his fingers. After being so accustomed to dodging charity, he feels a little bit reckless as he tears open the wrapper and breaks off a piece of chocolate.

The moment he pops it into his mouth he knows it's worth it. He makes a note to himself that any amount of debt and self-hatred at first is worth some quality chocolate.

"Balanced breakfast," Riley says cheekily, startling him. She emerges from the doorway and wanders over to join him.

He breaks off another piece, holding it out for her to take. She nods gratefully, taking it in her fingers. "Most important meal of the day."

"I'll toast to that," she jokes, tapping her piece against the rest of the bar.

They share the silence while they indulge, watching the sky slowly blend from grey to blue as the sun rises higher in the sky.

"I'm going to go get ready," she says, stepping back from the rail. "Head out in fifteen?"

He nods agreeably, returning the smile she offers him as she heads back into the motel room. He spins back around and resumes admiring the scenery, enjoying the chocolate and breathing in the fresh air and savoring the feeling of being free.

For as long as it lasts, anyway.

There's a brief moment where he thinks he sees it—a Sundance Strip police cruiser speeding by on the road. He has to blink to make sure he didn't make it up, but when he opens his eyes again it's gone, no other cars on the road so early on.

He was hallucinating. He must've made it up. Leftover alcohol or chocolate or something making him see things that aren't there.

But instantly, the freedom is gone. He's back on edge, shoulders tense and air a little staler than before. All he knows is he needs to move. He needs to go.

He needs to run.

"Riley," he says over his shoulder. He stares at the road one last time, still just as empty but suddenly a lot more imposing. He swallows hard, dropping the candy bar into the waste basket. "We gotta go. Now."


	5. teachers ( riley )

Considering how quickly they rush out of the motel, Riley doesn't even get the chance to worry she forgot something.

When Lucas comes barreling back into the room and declares they need to leave immediately, Riley is halfway through brushing her teeth and nowhere near ready to head out. But the urgency in his tone and the slightly spooked expression on his face tells her she shouldn't question him, so she spits the toothpaste foam out of her mouth and sets to gathering her things.

Five minutes later they're back on the road, peeling out of Franklin and headed towards Alabama. Riley is certain it's got to be her personal best for dashing out of an overnight location. Usually her process is much more extensive—double check all appliances, scour under the beds and in the dresser drawers to make sure she didn't leave a shoe or pencil or God forbid her wallet or something equally important. Even her morning routine remains unfinished, the grittiness of her toothpaste still subtle in her mouth without her usual gargle and rinse.

All of her minor inconveniences seem trivial though the moment she looks at Lucas in the driver's seat next to her. Although he's driving fine, she can tell that whatever caused him to freak that morning is still keeping hold of him. He's not nearly as laid back as he usually is, grip tight on the steering wheel and shoulders tense. There aren't a whole lot of other people on the road so early in the morning yet he keeps glancing in the rearview mirror, searching not for oncoming traffic but some mysterious shadow unbeknownst to her. Like he's being haunted by some sort of nightmare only he can see.

For all the disarray he threw her morning routine into, she isn't upset with him. She only wishes she could understand why he seems to be instead.

"You know, I think that's gotta be a record," she says, trying to find the best way to ease back into conversation. It's been silent since they pulled out of the parking lot, but it's obvious Lucas doesn't plan to do any talking on his own any time soon.

Not while he keeps looking over his shoulder like he's expecting to see a ghost.

"How fast we left," she explains when all he offers is an eyebrow raise. She shifts slightly in her seat, facing him to allow the discussion to feel more open. "I don't know about you, but usually it takes me like forty minutes to leave a place."

He blinks, eyes trained on the road. It takes him a second to catch up with her. "Oh, yeah."

"You know, gotta go through the whole search and assess. Make sure everything is in order. My dad used to give me so much crap when we'd go on family vacations because of it. Of course, the one time I noticed my mom almost forgot her hair dryer, I was suddenly a big hero." She can tell she's rambling, but his stressed silence motivates her to keep going rather than stop. "It was just a change of pace for me, that's all."

"Sorry about that," Lucas murmurs. He's got the convenient excuse of watching the road to avoid eye contact, but the way his words are so quiet makes her certain the apology is genuine. The way he's chewing his lip absentmindedly seems to be sending her a message as well, even if she hasn't yet learned how to decode it.

She and Lucas haven't known each other all that long, but already she feels as though she knows him better than most of the people she's met in her life. A part of her is determined to keep it going, to grow to know him more and more until the twitch of an eyebrow or the quiver of his lip is all she needs to know exactly what he wants to say.

"It's okay," she assures him, gesturing vaguely as if she could wave the worry away. "Honestly, such a rushed exit for once in my life probably did me some good."

He doesn't look convinced. She catches him take another nervous look in the rearview mirror, even though she's positive there's no one on the road behind them.

Maybe she should be concerned about whatever it is that has him so disturbed. Partially out of worry for him, but also out of sheer sensibility considering how little she knows about him. Maybe, her anxiety nags at her, he's not the one running from some great monster worthy of fearing. For all she knows, he's the one of whom she should be very, very afraid.

She knows it's not true. She doesn't know what it is—something cosmic and far beyond her mortal understanding—but she knows that Lucas isn't a bad person. He's not someone she should fear. If anything, she feels as though perhaps he needs someone to tell him so every once and a while.

Tentatively, she reaches out across the median and touches his forearm. She hasn't really made contact with him since she grabbed his hand outside the bus station, and he reacts about as comfortably now as he did then. She feels his muscles tighten underneath her fingertips and his eyes drift from the roadway momentarily to stare down at where her hand is resting on the sleeve of his jacket.

She doesn't pull away. That cosmic understanding, for whatever it's worth, is telling her this is exactly what he needs.

"It's okay," she repeats, softer this time. Hoping that despite how little she knows about the situation that he'll believe her.

After a moment, she notices his ironclad grip on the steering wheel relax somewhat. He nods, exhaling a sigh and readjusting as if to allow the sense of ease to spread back into the rest of his body.

Already, the car feels lighter again. Riley smiles, pulling her hand back into her lap as she reclines back in her seat. Although the silence is less obtrusive than before, she still feels the need to fill it. "Do hope I didn't forget anything though."

"I thought you were being cool about it," Lucas states, the ghost a smirk back on his lips. She can't begin to describe the relief that floods through her as their usual banter resumes. "I thought you were all past that now thanks to me."

"Please, don't flatter yourself. If I forgot my hairbrush or something equally as important, you're going to have to live with that on your conscience."

"Somehow," he says through laughter. It's a nice sound to hear again as it breaks down the tension of their morning. "I think I'll survive."

* * *

It's not until they're well into Alabama that Lucas stops driving, pulling off for gas and the chance to reassess their status. He plays it off like it was no big deal, but Riley notices how he subtly stretches before darting into the convenience store and makes a mental note not to let him drive so many hours at a time anymore. They're doing long days, and neither of them should be putting too much strain on their bodies regardless of how easily they claim they're absolutely fine.

Riley can't believe she made so much of this drive alone. Already, the journey feels so much different than the soul-searching endeavor it was when she started back in California. Of course, the soul-searching is still very much a factor, but it feels less daunting than it did back then. Less lonely.

Now, it's almost like a road trip with a friend. It's Lucas's trip just as much as hers, and it feels like a meandering, thoughtful journey to smell the roses than a slogging drag all the way across the country.

When she unfolds the map to gauge their progress, revisiting the blue pen marks he left all across her original route leaves her with a warm feeling in her stomach and an absentminded smile on her face. She doesn't know why she was so shocked he changed up her routine earlier—he's been doing so since she bumped into him. Inspiring change in her world in the best way possible.

The smile is still on her face when Lucas returns, jogging through the gas pumps to their parking spot with two bottles of water. He holds one out for her and she takes it gratefully, patting the spot next to her on the hood of Dave for him to join her.

He does so, stretching out his legs in contrast to hers crossed neatly. He eyes the map, waiting for her to take a sip of water before posing his question. "How's it looking?"

"We're definitely on track. In fact, considering how much earlier we left this morning than expected, we're making really good time. Too good time."

"Too good? How can time be too good?"

"Well, you know, it's like we're rushing ahead of it." Riley makes an indicative gesture with her hands that somewhat resembles flailing, imagining the time flying away behind them. Lucas smiles in spite of himself. "We're set to stop in Birmingham, and that's only about an hour away from here. I don't think we'll even be able to check in to our hotel for another couple hours."

"So we're killing time, basically. That's what you're saying."

"Basically." She examines him for a moment, until the moment parlays more into territory that could be considered staring depending on who you asked. She tears her focus away from him and tries not to wonder why he's growing so hard to look away from, gazing down at the map instead.

He takes a sip from his water, glaring out at the road behind them and then up towards the cloudless Alabama sky. It's impressively blue, boasting a natural charm that Riley doesn't think New York could ever compete with. Sure, her native city has its own unique charisma and she's proud as anyone to be from it, but there are more than a few days out of the year where the sky is pointedly grey and lost in a haze. She feels that way enough on the inside, she doesn't need it surrounding her as well.

"So, guess we should find something to do." Lucas tilts his head at her. "Any ideas?"

She shrugs, blowing out air between her lips before lighting up with inspiration. She'd been so focused on not using her electronics as to not make Lucas feel left out, she almost forgot how useful they could be in situations like these.

"I don't know a lot about Alabama," she says, fishing her phone out of her pocket. "But I'm pretty sure our good friend Google might."

Riley searches the maps on her phone until she begins to piece together a new plan, feeling the telltale tingle of anticipation over coming up with a new idea. It's a welcome sensation, having felt so dormant the last couple of years in college.

Lucas leans in closer to look over her shoulder as she tilts the phone in his direction, showing him the map. "If we drive an extra hour in the other direction, we can get to Montgomery and see Alabama State. It's a college town, there's got to be stuff to do there."

He shrugs. "Don't see why not."

"I'll drive, of course, since you've already done plenty." He starts to wave her off but she gets distracted, suddenly brightening with another idea. "Oh, and we can sit in the park! Colleges always have great lawns and parks to hang out."

Lucas makes a face, hopping off the hood. "You sound so enthused about that."

"Well, I am." Riley scoots forward, allowing her legs to dangle so the tip of her toes touch the gravel. She tilts her head at him, narrowing her eyes. "You got a problem with government sanctioned points of natural beauty, oh wanderer?"

This earns an eye roll. "No problem. But no grand thrill either. A park is just a park. Just a lot of grass and trees which believe it or not, they've got loads of along the road."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to prove how wrong you are, won't we?" She meets his eyes and gives him a challenging eyebrow raise. When he dangles the keys in front of her she snatches them pointedly, leaping off the hood and darting to the driver's side with a new sense of purpose. "Prepare to eat your words, Texas. I'm about to change your life forever."

She hears him snort, a strange look on his face as he climbs into the passenger seat beside her. "Believe me, I have no doubt about that."

* * *

It's a pleasant, painless pair of hours to Montgomery. Riley is more than refreshed enough to take the wheel and Lucas keeps the drive light by surfing through her saved songs on Spotify. He never makes an overtly negative comment, but it's amusing to watch him attempt to figure out the most inoffensive way to state his disinterest in some of her favorite tunes.

She doesn't mind much either way—everyone's taste in music is different, after all—but it's intriguing to observe him spin himself in circles just to avoid offending her. She absentmindedly wonders where he learned to speak that way, to question every word that comes out of his mouth and inherently assume he's going to say the wrong thing.

In her case, she knows she learned it from her mother. She's curious who in his life exudes a similar suffocating influence, only increasing her seemingly insatiable desire for knowledge about her unexpected road trip companion.

When they arrive in the city and the entire campus of Alabama State is at their mercy, Riley is a little surprised when Lucas declares he wants to explore the university. She'd been avoiding the actual purpose of their chosen detour, thinking about what he'd revealed to her the night previously while they were still easing out of the influence of the whiskey. If he had wanted to avoid the collegiate sphere entirely she wouldn't have had an issue with it, but he seems rather fascinated and she's certainly not going to stop him from getting a good look around.

As it turns out, wandering around campus turns out to be the perfect way to pass time. It's different enough from her alma mater to avoid reminding her of the four grueling years of schooling she endured only to end up with a useless degree and absolutely no idea what she wants to do with her life, and Lucas's enchantment with every building they explore is so charming all other complaints she could possibly form go out the window.

By the time they reach the main library and get lost in the stacks, Riley figures if Lucas could have it his way he'd stay there forever. The way his expression softens as he flips through endless books on animal behavior makes her realize perhaps his never pursuing higher education was less a self-made decision and more than likely a consequence of circumstance. That the reason he didn't ever go to college is likely related to the way he monitors how often he speaks and what he says and how he says it, and probably connects back to the reason he's a drifter at all.

So many blank spaces left in the entry dedicated to him in her brain, a constantly growing record that she's determined to improve. Until all those empty question marks are filled.

Regardless of the answers she'll eventually learn, she's glad everything panned out the way it did. Because all of it likely ties back to the reason he was running on the Sundance strip when she bumped into him in the first place, and now that he's here she can't imagine things turning out any differently.

She doesn't want to disturb him from his fleeting college experience, so she lets him live in the stacks until the moment she's sure she's going to keel over from hunger. Only then does she drag him back out into the Alabama sunshine, the two of them finding an establishment to nick some food from before heading out to the closest park a few miles down the road.

It's more humid than Riley would've liked, but otherwise the afternoon feels nearly ideal. The sunshine is bright and the sky effortlessly blue, making all other colors seem sharper in comparison. There's a fair amount of people out for the day, families tossing Frisbees and college kids free from studying for the summer to laze around on the grass just like they are.

In some ways, it almost feels as if they could pretend. For the day, Riley decides, they're just a couple of college students wiling away their summer. It goes hand in hand with that mini narrative she's started building in her head, the two of them being far from strangers but rather good friends. Taking this cross-country road trip together for the sake of sharing the experience, to escape the unforgiving expectations of the real world waiting for them when they reach their final destination and the surrealism of their journey fades away with the summer heat.

"Isn't this just the loveliest place you've ever seen?" Riley shifts her gaze from the small children playing Frisbee with their father and pet dog to focus on him. She smirks at the silly expression he makes in response as he pops a grape in his mouth. "Admit it, it's amazing."

"It's certainly green," he offers.

The southern humidity has earned a degree of exposure from Lucas, his jean jacket off his shoulders and laying on the grass next to him. He's worn it so consistently in spite of all the weather since she met him, it's a bit jarring to see him without it. With how vigilant he is about wearing it, Riley gets the feeling its less of a fashion statement and more of a subconscious shield. An armor made of denim.

When she thinks about it like that, she figures she must be pretty lucky to get to see him without it. She's slowly earning his trust, enough to warrant the lowering of his most practiced defenses. She doesn't plan to take this honor lightly.

On the other hand, the only other thing her mind can seem to focus on is how wonderfully nice his arms are. His broad shoulders in his plain blue tee aren't half bad either.

Riley has no idea where that train of thought is likely to lead so she derails it, forcing herself to start a new distraction. She sits up straighter and shakes her head at him, working through chewing her sandwich as efficiently as possible so she can articulate her thought. She gestures vaguely while she does so, earning an eyebrow raise and amused smile as she attempts to keep him on pause until she gets to speak.

"You're just doing it all wrong."

He scoffs. "Doing what?"

"Experiencing life." He laughs harder but she refuses to be deterred, locking eyes with him. "I'm serious! You're waiting for the beauty and big moments to jump out at you, like if you don't see it then it's not there. You're missing everything else waiting for that thing that's big, loud, and obvious."

"That so?"

"It is. But life doesn't play like that. You have to find the beauty in it yourself, it's not just going to hand it to you on a silver platter. Believe me, I know this better than anybody. The really important things, they creep up on you. In fact, I'll show you. Close your eyes."

He narrows his eyes at her suspiciously, but there's still amusement in his features. Riley rolls her eyes, leaning forward to nudge his arm. She doesn't know why she's suddenly so intent on finding ways to touch him, but it seems as though her mind is doing a lot of things without checking with her first these days. "Come on! We've been carting each other along the highway for days now. I think if I were going to take you out I would've done it by now. And certainly not in the middle of this lovely park."

"It's funny that you still think you're the one who would be the danger in this situation."

"Close. Your eyes." Lucas raises his hands in surrender before closing his eyes, releasing a pointed sigh. She grins even though he can't see it. "Good. Now for one moment, I want you to stop thinking about what you think constitutes something amazing. Throw all those preconceived notions out of your head until there's nothing left. Just nice and blank and empty."

Lucas leans back on his palms, cocking his head to the side. "There's not much in here for me to toss out. Already pretty empty."

She shushes him. "No self-deprecation while experiencing life properly. Quiet those nonsense thoughts and throw them out too."

He obeys, or at least she assumes he does, because after a couple more moments his expression loses some its natural intensity. His features relax, releasing his self-conscious tendencies and allowing her to take the reins.

"Okay, first, just listen to the world around you. Every little sound, even the ones your brain tends to filter out because it deems it unimportant. Recognize each one, acknowledge it, appreciate it for what it is." She waits for about a minute. "What do you hear?"

His tone is soft when he responds. It sends a wave of warmth washing over her for reasons she doesn't understand.

"Kids playing with their dog. The geyser running in the pond and stirring up the water. A breeze rustling the leaves in the trees." He furrows his brow. "Oh, and this strange chirping. Like a little bird. A lot of it."

There had been a couple of birds flying above them throughout their lunch, but there definitely wasn't one right now. Riley frowns, glancing around them to double check. "A bird?"

"Yeah. You don't hear it? It's like, really chipper and yappy and it's right in my ear. Like right next to me, going on and on." After a second, his phony frown shifts effortlessly into another teasing smirk. "Oh, wait. That's just you."

Riley can feel herself blush. She reaches forward to shove him again, giggling in spite of herself when he takes it happily and falls onto his back in the grass.

"Listen, birds are pretty. Even I can admit that. Just chatty."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she says, trying to stop the flush from stretching up to her ears. She's grateful his eyes are still closed. "Moving on. Next task. Focus on what you're feeling. Not like, metaphysically, but literally. Focus on touch, the oft forgotten fifth sense."

Lucas makes a face, adjusting against the ground. She can't help but think he looks like a golden retriever, rolling on his back in the grass. He's not so different from the pup the kids a few yards away are getting to catch the Frisbee. "You think touch is the most forgotten sense?"

"Uh, yeah. What do you think it is?"

"Taste, probably. Like sight and sound are the obvious ones, and then smell because that's the one where you go 'oh, yeah, that's one of them.' Then touch."

"Alright, alright, sure."

"Then you're stuck on what that last one is until you sit down to eat a snack and you're like, oh yeah! That's what I was missing. Taste."

"You and your answers," she says, knocking her foot against his leg to get him to shut up. "Back to focus. Touch. What are you feeling?"

He exhales, dropping his hands from his torso to rest against the ground. She watches his fingers lightly brush the blades of grass underneath them, truly searching for the sensation as he attempts to put it into words. "Grass under me, surprisingly sticky and a little itchy."

"Sticky?"

"Yeah. Have you ever really felt a piece of grass before?" Although the question offers a hint of condescension his tone is far from it, reflecting the thoughtful nature of the exercise. "You don't think much about it when you're just passing through, but if you take a piece of it into your hands the underside it is strangely sticky. Like it's got sap of its own or something."

Riley tears a piece of grass from the ground by her foot to see for herself. He's not wrong, and she smiles to herself at the notion of having learned something new to appreciate about the world even when she's not the one practicing it. How nice it is, to be taught something by him.

"I can feel the humidity, and that's gross and making my shirt glue itself to my back." Riley chuckles, and Lucas grins. "I can feel the sunshine. I mean, that goes along with the temperature, but I can really feel the sun in particular. The specific kind of warmth it gives off, the way it's probably grilling my skin but also makes everything feel lighter."

She feels caught when he suddenly opens his eyes and catches her staring, in the midst of admiring the nice tan years of being grilled by the sun has provided him. She clears her throat, tilting her head in lieu of asking him to elaborate.

"Sorry, I know that's probably a little more metaphysical than what we were going for."

"No, no, that's fine." She crinkles her nose, pushing some stray hair behind her ear. "The whole point of the exercise to clear your head and focus on something wonderful about the world you hadn't before. Something you were missing because you were too lost in the everything else."

She can't count the amount of times she's had to do it herself in the last couple years. How many times this exercise and this exercise alone has recalibrated her brain just in time to keep her from doing something she'll regret. As long as it gives him the same sense of peace it does for her, she doesn't care how metaphysical he takes it.

He squints up at the sky, still hung up on the sun. "I never really thought about it like that until now. The sunshine, I mean. I guess I kind of take it for granted or blame it for the heat. Been a while since I've thought about how bright it keeps things. Makes you feel seen."

"Pretty lovely, isn't it?"

A sheepish look crosses his face, but it's easily as charming as all the others. He shifts his gaze to look at her, hesitating for a long moment before offering a nod.

"Yeah," he says thoughtfully, eyes fixed solely on her. "It is."

* * *

Considering Lucas's willingness to humor her park frenzy, Riley allows him to choose what they do next to meander the rest of the day away. Where he takes her is the bowling alley a little ways down the road, the two of them jumping in a lane surrounded by a bunch of other college-aged patrons likely whittling away their last few days of freedom before they're back to the grind of higher education.

Lucas is so enthused to get started, Riley notices, that he doesn't even argue when she offers to front the bill.

It doesn't take long to realize why. Within the first three frames, Lucas has bowled two strikes and locked away another spare. He's obviously got skill and a lot of practice under his belt, which is a far cry from her two gutter balls and one lucky destruction of five pins.

She can't remember the last time she went bowling. It's definitely been years, not since she was home before moving to California. Her dad used to take her and Auggie pretty often when they were kids, if she's not wrong. It's one of those activities that feels fuzzy in her mind, more like a warm mirage of a memory than something crystalized in her brain she recall later. One of those things she can never seem to reach and absorb the warmth of in the moments where she needs it the most.

Riley finds it easy not to overthink it while she's hanging with Lucas. She's continuing to play that make believe in her head, pretending that they're good friends spending an afternoon together. They're just another couple of college kids in the sea of them flooding the bowling alley, teasing each other over gutter balls and laughing over stupid jokes or that song from middle school that starts playing over the loud speaker.

For once, she effortlessly belongs. Ironic how it took being with a near stranger in a place she's never been before to find that feeling.

When Lucas bowls his fifth strike out of eight and their first game is coming up on its end, Riley forfeits her fat chance of beating him this round and goes to get food instead. She's not particularly hungry, but she figures in the back of her mind Lucas might be even if he won't admit it. In any case, there's something mystic about a bowling alley that makes her want to purchase their crap food even though it's decidedly low quality. A strange kind of pull towards mediocrity simply because it's such a staple of the experience.

She returns to their lane just as its coming up on her last frame. She gives it her all, managing to scrape up eight pins and a gutter before raising her hands in surrender. Lucas is laughing at her, but it doesn't feel as though he's picking on her. A feat, considering she's spent a majority of her life acting as the underdog for her friends and family to pick on if they need it.

When the game wraps, the two of them take a break to enjoy the disgustingly manufactured cheese fries in front of them. Riley slides into the chair in front of the tiny table set up just above their lane, Lucas clambering into the booth seat opposite her. He pulls one of his legs up and props his elbow on his knee, reaching for one of the fries and digging in without even thinking about it.

It's the most relaxed she's seen him this entire trip so far. Certainly in his element.

There's something decidedly adorable about it.

"Okay, I have to know," she starts, popping a gooey French fry into her mouth. Lucas raises his eyebrows at her, waiting for her to swallow before posing the question. "How the hell are you so good at this?"

Lucas hums in amusement, nodding to address the question while his mouth is busy chewing. She shakes her head, already giggly even though nothing about their conversation is inherently funny. It's that mystic atmosphere again, making her feel loose. As comfortable and at ease as her road trip companion clearly is in this random bowling alley despite how long it's been since she hung out in one.

"I'm serious. Are you like, a champion player? Was your great-great grandfather an all-star and you inherited his coveted strike-inducing genes?"

Lucas snorts. "Considering I used to play baseball in high school, it would be a real shame if I inherited strike-inducing genetics."

Huh. A baseball player. Riley files the fact away for a later discussion.

"But no. Just had a lot of practice."

She's a bit dismayed by the lack of elaboration. "How come? Are you really into bowling? Have you ever bowled a 300? That's the number right, when you bowl a lot of strikes?"

"A 300 is a perfect game, and no I've never bowled it." He pauses, poking at the French fries. "Not for lack of trying, but perfection is surprisingly a bitch to attain."

He says the last sentence like he's all too familiar with it. Riley wants to ask more questions about that, but it's difficult enough to get him to talk about his history with bowling. Besides, casting a glance at his pleasantly golden tan and sparkling green eyes, she can't help but think he's getting about as close to perfection as one could manage.

Weird thought. Not a very normal, college buddies hanging out thought. She reroutes her focus back to bowling.

"So then where does the practice come from?" From the way he takes a prolonged drink of his water, she can tell he's playing hard to get. "Come on, I want to know. Were you in some kind of league? Is everyone on the Sundance strip in some kind of bowling mafia?"

This earns a laugh, breaking his resistance just as she hoped. He tilts his head back against the fake leather of the booth, giving her a smile that she easily mirrors. "You really want to know?"

"Yes. That is, in fact, what I said."

"Alright, alright," he sighs, sitting up straighter and leaning forward against the table. He picks up his straw wrapper and begins twirling it between his fingers, but Riley isn't sure he's doing it consciously.

"So as you may have guessed from your brief visit to the land itself, the Sundance strip doesn't exactly have a lot of options for entertainment. There's the movie theater, but it plays the same two movies and only swaps out its selection once a month. Yeah, Austin's only a drive away, but first you need a car to get there and once you do, you have to have the pocket change to do anything worth driving out there for."

Riley nods along, already invested. She's always been fascinated by the culture of the different cities and small pocket towns of the world—it's part of the reason she endeavored to take this journey in the first place. To hear an actual local describe it from the inside out is a treat all its own.

"So if you're growing up in the Sundance strip, there's really only three things to do to have fun: vandalism, hooking up, and bowling."

For some reason, her cheeks grow warm at the second item on his list. She doesn't know why—it's not as though she's never experienced it, with her two boyfriends in her personal history book and having gone to college to witness it firsthand. There's certainly fun in the prospect of a little romantic entanglement—not that she would exactly say so herself—but to imagine it as one of only three things worth doing in her whole world seems a little sad.

Then, there's the small part of her stomach that flips at the notion of Lucas's personal experience with these limited options. She finds it ridiculous that her mind is fixating on the implication of sex rather than the possible misdemeanor.

"I see," she says, focusing on teasing him to keep her brain from spiraling. It's been known to do that now and again. "So let me guess—you're a man of the third option."

"Sure enough." He raises his glass cheekily, as if cheering the memory of the bowling alley where he spent a lot of his time. "My friends and I were regulars at the strip alley by the time we were in ninth grade. So believe me, I was once exactly where you were, young gutter ball grasshopper."

Riley's smirk widens into a grin. "Oh, so it's not a lost cause for me? There's hope?"

"Well, maybe not. Dylan was rolling gutter balls up until junior year. Zay was my only real competition. Asher basically gave up and dedicated his alley time to claw machines."

He talks about his former friends as if they're ghosts, entities he can only remember in theory. As if they didn't meet Dylan in person only a couple days ago. She wonders if he realizes she knows about him, that she made the connection after he said goodbye to their friendly concierge.

"He was a real monster at those things honestly." Lucas is still lost in thought, clearly trying to fill the silence on instinct. "I'm pretty sure he had like a whole collection of stupid cheap stuffed animals clogging up his closet at home. Talk about an actual skill."

It's funny that she can imagine Dylan a few years younger relatively easily, sitting in her spot bowling with Lucas and scoring gutter after gutter. She bets it wouldn't even faze him. It wouldn't harp on him the way it's been slowly creeping up on her, nagging at the back of her mind simply because it's been a while since her brain found something unnecessary to seize and obsess over.

"It's a shame he never left Texas. They've got those pricier claw machines in the bigger strips, the one with iPads and stuff. He could've made a serious haul if he'd—,"

"Teach me how to bowl a strike," Riley says suddenly, her eyes out on the lane in front of them.

He stops speaking, blinking at her. "Huh?"

"Show me how to bowl a strike," she repeats insistently, jumping to her feet. She's suddenly alight with restless energy, a feeling she's familiar with but not necessarily a fan of. It's a sensation born out of anxiety, out of the awareness that she's not doing something right or missing out in a way she may never be able to make up. "Come on. It's one of those things everyone should do once in their life, right?"

"Wait, you've _never_ bowled a strike?" Lucas raises an eyebrow, surprised bordering on the line of concerned. Like for all the experiences she's held above him because of the way she grew up, she's missing a key fundamental piece of childhood. "Not once. Not ever."

"In my defense, the times I went were long ago and we had the bumpers up because of my little brother."

"Right."

"For Auggie. Not for me."

"Uh huh." She can see the ghost of that smirk hovering over his lips again. It's rapidly becoming familiar. "You do realize that bumpers would probably help in getting—,"

"Come on, come on," she says impatiently, holding out her hands and urging him to get up. She's caught the attention of a group of college kids packing up for the day, earning glances in their direction but she doesn't care. "If you've got so much practice, there has to be a method to the madness. I want to learn the secrets."

Lucas raises his hands in surrender, scooting his way out of the booth seat. "Okay, okay."

He holds out a hand and she takes it without hesitation, helping pull him from the table. She doesn't release her grip until she's keyed up a new game on the monitor and is standing in front of the lane, feeling that familiar tingle of nerves in her palms and battling that impatience to get started. Running from the fear that she'll run out of time before she's experienced everything the world has to offer her—the fear she gave herself.

Despite his initial reluctance, Lucas proves to be an effective mentor. He gives up his frames for the round and they dedicate the entire twenty turns to perfecting her game.

Riley discovers there are so many more factors that go into bowling than she ever realized—her posture, the way her stance ends as her last step lands, the slightest twist of her wrist as she releases the ball onto the lane. Lucas observes her while looking at all of these things, beginning to identify places for improvement and demonstrating how to go about adjusting each one.

It isn't until they're halfway through the frames that Riley's rush of adrenaline begins to fade, and she starts to recognize exactly what she got herself into and what she asked of him.

For a person who seems to want to keep very much to himself, the lesson is forcing Lucas to do an awful lot of touching. A light brush on her shoulders to remind her to adjust her posture, a gentle hold on her wrist to adjust its angle. She becomes acutely aware of how close they're standing, how different his voice sounds when it's so close and soft and right in her ear.

He's completely focused on training her for a strike, and she's suddenly cloudy with how many faded little freckles he has on his cheek and how warm his fingers are on her elbow.

Either way, the exercise works as intended. With some of that mystic bowling magic, Riley manages a strike on the last frame of their second game. Lucas goes for a high-five and she gives him a double, both of them landing with a delightfully loud clap that seems to ring throughout the entire alley and rattle away the last of the anxiety in her chest.

She realizes she doesn't have to pretend anymore. No more making believe that she and Lucas are friends on this journey—they are friends, from that moment onward with no doubt in her mind. Because only a friend would spend so much effort on such a meaningless task just because she requested it. Only a friend could smile at her like that and share in her new victory.

Only a true friend could give her an experience like this she never would've had otherwise.

* * *

Although they wrap up after the second game, Riley kills a little more time by wandering over to the arcade section of the bowling alley after they get back their shoes. She's positive their hotel is more than ready at this point to check them in, but she doesn't want to head back on the road quite yet. She's enjoying this detour, and she hasn't felt the need to glance at her phone at all.

Time is no longer a crushing limitation on her life. She's operating by Lucas and their shared internal clock now, and according to that she decides they've got all the time in the world.

She eyes one of the claw machines Lucas was rambling about earlier. "Got a quarter or two?"

Lucas shrugs, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a handful of coins, and honestly it shocks Riley a bit to see them. She can't remember the last time she carried spare change.

He holds them out for her. "Why?"

Riley takes the quarters from his palm, closing his fingers back around the rest. She shifts her gaze back to the claw, determined. "I'm feeling lucky."

Lucas follows along behind her, looking amused as he leans against the side of the machine. He watches as she carefully slides one of his precious quarters into the slot and the machine grinds to life. She's only got three chances with the three quarters he handed her, so she has to make them count.

Riley hovers her hand over the joystick, scanning the crowd of fuzzy prizes inside the glass to find the one worth pursuing. She's operating by the overpowering mystic energy, trusting in her gut to guide her hand in the right direction. So much of the last couple of days has been dominated by a strange sense of fate—stopping for water, meeting Lucas, finding the strength not to give up halfway through the journey. That's a reminder she knows is divine intervention.

Then, she sees it.

A pale blue stuffed horse, buried just underneath a couple of other cheap little distractions. Definitely not the easiest prize, and going to take some serious work to pull out from under its protective layers. But absolutely necessary. A clearer sign than she thinks she's ever seen before.

She hadn't forgotten their discussion about Violet in the car. Now, the universe is staring her right in the face in the shape of a polyester cotton candy-colored pony.

"So, is this the typical maneuver for a night in the Sundance strip?" Riley prompts, pushing the claw forward in her first attempt. If she plans to make this grab work, she knows she needs to focus. And what that means for her is to not overthink it, which means she needs to be thinking about anything else.

"What? Claw games?" Lucas crosses his arms, paying more attention to her than whatever she's guiding the claw towards. "For Asher, maybe. Otherwise, no."

She can't help but laugh. The claw mechanically grinds in the direction of the horse. "No, I meant like… a play. In the long game."

Lucas blinks at her. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The claw lowers down and just barely skims the top of the horse's head before seizing up, retracting and blowing her first shot. She attempts to keep her frustration internal, huffing lightly and taking a moment to strategize.

For all the mental energy she's spending on her game plan, she's not spending a lot of time monitoring what comes out of her mouth.

"You know, like… if someone is hoping to score in one of those other two methods of having fun in the Sundance strip." She slips his next quarter into the slot, chewing her lip as she eyes her prize. If she has any hope of retrieving the blue horse, she needs to remove that rather ugly pink frog from suffocating it. Not that she thinks any stuffed animal should be referred to as ugly, but she's too focused for courtesy.

Although she's not looking at him, Lucas's long pause speaks enough for him. "Are you asking me how we scored girls?"

"Well, that's one way of putting it," Riley scoffs. She guides the claw again, taking the time to reformulate her question. "But no, not exactly. I mean more like, the part before that portion of the evening. Is that what a typical date is like back home? Bowling and cheap alley food and boasting over strikes?"

"I was not boasting."

"Oh, no, yeah, of course not." The claw inches closer and closer to the frog, managing to clench around its middle.

"I don't think so, honestly." Lucas watches as the frog begins to rise into the air, a seemingly well-crafted catch. "But I wouldn't know."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know," he says, shrugging. "I've never been on one."

Riley is so surprised, her grip on the claw loosens and drops the frog. "What?"

The pink amphibian falls to its demise, collapsing on a mountain of little critters forming just near the drop box for a successful prize. Close, but no cigar.

Lucas eyes it pitifully. "You dropped him."

She doesn't know why she finds this information so shocking, especially since he seems completely unmoved by the discussion. It just seems so hard to believe. Lucas is absolutely one of the cutest guys she's ever met, and she's been on both coasts of the continental United States. She doesn't see how no one in the Sundance strip—girl or guy, if that's the team he plays on—would've taken the time to take Lucas Friar on a date. Even more so, considering how naturally charming he is, she doesn't see how he didn't manage to accrue a collection of girls to take on dates during his pre-hitchhiking days.

Maybe that's why he left. Not a viable enough market in the good old Sundance strip.

"Sorry," she says finally, touching the glass where the frog is resting as if to pay it tribute. A worthy sacrifice to pursuit of her true goal.

Gearing herself up, she grits her teeth and slides the last quarter in the slot.

"So your own experience aside, I don't believe you don't have any perception of what a date would be like on the Sundance strip."

"Well, I mean, like I said there wasn't a ton to do," he says defensively. He glances out towards the rest of the arcade, expression thoughtful before he tilts his head in acquiescence. "Okay. I would be willing to bet that many, many of those long games as you so eloquently put it ended in the back of a rusty pick-up truck—,"

"Oh, please," Riley says quickly, grimacing. She's grateful for the excuse to stare down this blue pony so she doesn't have to meet the expression on his face.

"Hey, you asked."

She clears her throat, pushing past whatever emotion is making her cheeks flush and reminding herself that the conversation is only a distraction. A needed distraction to accomplish her final shot.

Riley's hand gently pushes the joystick in the direction of the horse. Lucas furrows his brow.

"You skipped right over the frog."

She elects to ignore his confusion. "So what's the ideal Sundance rendezvous then?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, say I were a Sundance strip gal and you were trying to woo me. What would your ideal night be?" Before he can comment Riley quickly amends her approach, subconsciously brushing some hair out of her face. "I just feel like everyone should know what their go-to perfect date would be. Whether or not they've been on one or not."

Lucas shifts against the machine, glancing at the claw making its way towards the back corner for the third time. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. "That so?"

"Yes. For example, mine would be a flea market."

Although her attention is laser-focused on her claw game, she can picture the half-smirk on his face perfectly. "A flea market?"

"Yes. One of those big ones, like the Pasadena Rose Bowl. That just has stands and stands of antiques and vintage clothes and tees that seem to stretch on forever." She's finally landed on the impeccable topic of conversation for this circumstance. As this is something she's thought about many times before, and requires no actual brain power as she rambles on to keep her overthinking in check. "The whole point would be that me and my partner would just wander for hours and find lots of little unique items. We wouldn't buy anything necessarily, just fantasize about all the stories of the spread around us and imagine what we would do if we bought x, y, or z."

She presses the button on the joystick and lowers the claw. It comes down just around the torso of the pony, managing to pull it from the rubble of other prizes around it.

"Sounds like a lot of make believe," Lucas says, but his tone isn't judgmental. "Like it would take a lot of imagination."

"Well, you are talking to a creative writing major." Riley holds her breath as she begins to slowly guide the claw back towards the drop box.

"You're a writer? You didn't tell me that."

She can't lose focus. That's a topic that requires losing focus. She hums instead of offering a response, her eyes trained on the horse dangling precariously in the fingers of the untrustworthy claw in front of her. Just a few more inches. Seconds left.

It's her lack of a response that gets Lucas to pay attention to the game. Apparently, he'd been so intently watching her he hadn't even noticed her near victory. "Oh, shit."

"Come on, come on, come on—!"

The claw opens and releases the pony just above the drop box, almost earning Riley a win. The toy's back leg gets caught on the edge of the box, keeping it dangling just out of reach and leaving her one inch away from victory.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"Hold on," Lucas says, glancing over his shoulder. His hands hover over her shoulders as he walks around her, continuing to scan the room around them for anyone paying attention. Then, once he's determined the coast is clear and is situated on the opposite side, he braces his shoulder and swiftly rams into the side of the machine.

It jostles it enough to send the little critter falling snugly into the drop box. Riley exhales before clapping her hands on instinct, lowering herself down to her knees to pull their new friend from its plastic prison.

"I don't want to know how you knew to do that."

"One too many vending machines have done me dirty in this life," he says sagely, smiling as she jumps back to her feet. "I'm impressed. Asher would be proud."

"Well, teamwork makes the dream work," she proclaims. She forces herself to overcome her initial sense of shyness, holding out the pony for him to take. "For you."

"What? No, I can't take this. You won it."

"It was your quarter. And besides, I promised you a blue horse to match Violet. The fact that we just happened upon it and gave it a new home is more magical than I could've possibly arranged." She emphasizes passing it in his direction again, nodding eagerly. "It's yours."

She can see in his expression that he doesn't want to take it. That he must be reading it like a handout, the same way he's reluctant to accept a meal from her or insists on driving his half of the miles as they cross the rest of the continent together. It's some natural instinct in him, even if she doesn't know exactly how to articulate it in her mind.

But her intentions are entirely genuine, and she makes her smile unbearably bright. Finally he caves, nodding and taking the horse from her hands. "Okay."

"Yay! You're welcome." The two of them begin their walk out of the alley and back towards the car, Lucas cradling the horse in his arms like its precious cargo. "What are you going to name it? Him? Her?"

"I don't know. I'm bad at naming things."

"You named Dave."

"Okay, I'm bad at naming things that aren't cars." He holds up the blue pony in front of him, frowning before turning it towards her. "You're the writer. What does it seem like to you?"

Riley hums thoughtfully, making a show of cocking her head and giving the dilemma a lot of thought. She thinks about all of the time they've whittled away today, all the small meaningful moments like the soft touch of learning how to bowl and the way Lucas described the lightness of the sun.

"Sunshine," she says decisively, nodding to accent the point.

She stops at the passenger side as Lucas makes his way over to the driver's side of the car. He makes a face. "Sunshine? Doesn't that seem a little over the top for a horse from a bowling alley?"

"Well, that was just the nickname." She plops herself down and waits for him to climb into the car as well, reaching into the glove compartment. "I was going to say Princess Dancing Sunshine, if you'd prefer the long version."

"Sunshine it is," he relents quickly.

Riley grins as she pulls her case of emergency gum, watching as he places Sunshine in the back seat next to where Violet the cat has been riding for the past few days. How wonderful, she has to think to herself, that now she has a friend.

She offers him a stick of gum when he turns back around. "For the bowling alley cheese."

"Thanks," he says, popping it into his mouth.

Although the keys are in the ignition and both of them are buckled up and ready to go, there's no sense of urgency. The sun is well past setting, and they could absolutely head to their hotel if they wanted to.

Riley finds herself fine meandering a little while longer. Something about the day feels eternal in a way she doesn't want to actively disrupt. Evidently, Lucas feels the same way, because he's far from driving them in the direction of their next map point. He's chewing his gum thoughtfully instead, staring out the dashboard window towards the night sky.

"So what about yours, then?"

"Hmm?"

"Your ideal date." Riley slouches back in her seat, blowing a bubble. When it pops and startles her she wrinkles her nose, earning a laugh from Lucas. "You heard mine, with the flea market and all that imagination. If you were trying to impress a girl from the Sundance strip, what would your master move have been?"

Lucas crinkles his eyebrows, obviously mulling it over. She regrets giving him the gum, because it gives him a convenient excuse not to talk.

But then he glances out the window again, and she sees something in his expression brighten. The presence of an idea washing over him. "Think it'll be more effective if I can show you. Can I use your phone?"

"Yeah, of course." She reaches into her pocket, curiosity creeping in her impatient mind as she hands it over to him. He offers no further explanation, pointedly opening the web browser and carefully typing into the search bar. "We're not going all the way back to the strip, are we?"

"Hell no. Not in this lifetime." He seems to find what he's looking for, copying an address and opening the maps application on her phone. "This should have the same effect. You trust me, right?"

It's a loaded question. One with a practical answer and a crazy, nonsensical bullshit answer that would make her mother have a meltdown and then fly out to whisk her back to New York. The correct answer is no—she's only known him for a few days, he won't tell her much about his personal life, he's a drifter, and there's a whole history behind him that is completely blank to her. That's the answer any practical person would give, the answer her parents and the rest of the world would expect.

Then there's her answer—rooted in fated happenstances and the disbelief in coincidence. His clear deference to her as her guest and respect of her space, both personal and via possessions. The small gems of wisdom she's absorbed about him in such a short amount of time. The way everything with him is easy—conversation, decisions, the mere chore of existing.

The way that in such a short amount of time, he's managed to become her friend.

"Yes," Riley says, leaning back into her seat and propping her feet up on the dashboard. "I'm ready to be amazed. Show me what you've got."

"Well, considering my competition is a flea market—,"

"Rude."

* * *

The moment they veer off the main road, Riley is wondering if maybe that trust was indeed misplaced.

As they drive further and further from civilization into the trees she can't fight the anxiety that creeps into the cavities of her heart, making her question every decision she's ever made and wondering if this is in fact how things are going to end. Maybe this has indeed been a long game for the two of them, only instead of the end being engaging in the Sundance strip's number two most popular teenager pastime it's going to finally be the moment where Lucas murders her and buries her body deep in the ground where no one will ever find her again.

If so, she supposes she has to admire his tenacity. Putting up with her for multiple days in such close quarters is a big sacrifice to make for such a worthless killing. Though she's never met a serial killer in person, so perhaps that's all part of the thrill.

If she is about to die, she has to appreciate the drama of it.

Lucas guides the car between a few trees and out into a rather clear patch of grassland between the woods, killing the engine. When he speaks, the usual calm demeanor of his tone brings her spiraling brain back down to Earth.

"Okay, this should be it." He gives her a timid smile as he unbuckles his seatbelt, before disappearing out of the car.

Well, should this be the moment he murders her, she's once again grateful his smile is so cute.

Riley forces her nerves down and pushes the door open, climbing out into the muggy Alabama night. Despite the raging humidity chasing them throughout the day with the exception of the miracle breeze at the park, it's pleasantly warm in the air around them tonight.

Lucas is waiting for her on the hood of the car, gesturing her over to join him. She spits out her gum, wrapping it back in its wrapper and stuffing it into her pocket.

Hopping onto Dave's hood, Riley absentmindedly places her palms on the surface of the metal to see how warm it is. It's a relief to feel the paint cool under her fingertips, hopefully an indicator that the engine is still in good shape. She's been working it hard, she knows.

"So," Riley says, letting out some air between her lips.

Lucas crosses his ankles. "So."

"This is your idea of an epic date, huh?" She doesn't know why everything is coming out so impulsively teasing tonight. Like some strange defense mechanism, but she doesn't know what she's protecting herself from. Especially considering how comfortable she feels with him otherwise. "Sitting on the hood of your car in the middle of nowhere."

"Well, the strip _invented_ being the middle of nowhere."

"Touché." He smirks, and she tilts her head at him. "So what's the catch? Why is this your deal-breaking, master move?"

He doesn't shift his gaze from her, but his smile brightens. "Look up."

Riley does, and immediately she takes back every single worry she had on the drive over. She decides she has to trust herself more, because every single decision she's made to lead to this point has been more than worth it.

There are so many stars in the sky. Millions and millions of stars, not overshadowed by the light pollution of the city or scattered so far apart that they feel unreachable. There's so many of them so beautifully clustered that they feel right at her fingertips, only inches above them like the glow-in-the-dark ones she used to have on her ceiling in middle school.

It's indescribably breathtaking. So stunning, even her writer brain can't find the words to capture it. The kind of visual that her imagination could never replicate, only brand to memory and attempt to recreate for the rest of her life.

"Wow," she whispers.

Lucas nods next to her, sighing before leaning back and laying against the dashboard window. "Yeah. I figured you probably didn't have stars like this in New York. I don't know about California."

"Oh, California had stars," Riley says modestly, following his lead and falling back against the window. It's the right move by all accounts—now she can see the stars effortlessly, stretching into infinity. "So did New York, technically."

"But not like this."

"No." She exhales a dreamy sigh. "Not like this."

They rest in comfortable silence for a few minutes, each lost in thought as they gaze up at the glittering marvel above them. Riley is grateful, she realizes, for another essential life experience. Once again provided by her travel companion. She's starting to stack up a pretty sizable debt to him—now she understands how he feels about all the check stealing she's been doing.

Still, money is one thing. At the end of the day, it doesn't mean anything. These moments, the must-sees—those are going to stay with her forever.

"Honestly, I don't think this kind of thing would work on the girls on the strip," Lucas says, breaking the silence. His voice is soft, as if he doesn't want to disturb the spectacle. As if they aren't the only two people around for miles. "They're so used to it, you know? Don't really appreciate it."

"I can't believe that," Riley says, shaking her head. "I don't think I could ever get tired of this, even if I saw it every day."

"Trust me, appreciation is in short supply back home," he says bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Curiosity peaks again at the resentful tone in his voice. How it takes on this edge, this distinct crackle whenever he talks about the world he left behind. Not the people, like Dylan or Zay. Not the specifics, like Sophia or naming cars or Asher and his claw machine. Just the existence of the place, the reminder that its where he's coming from. The place he's obligated to call home, even if it doesn't feel like it the way it should.

She's dying to know what creates that edge. She's so curious to know everything about him, what caused him to leave, all the pieces he's leaving behind good or bad. She wants to understand the crumbled napkin with his mother's phone number that he refuses to call but also won't throw away. She wants to know the reason he skipped college and ran for the side of the road instead when he's evidently quite smart and full of potential. She's insatiably curious about what exactly he's running from, or if he knows where he's barreling to in the midst of all the escape.

Maybe he'll tell her, one day. Maybe he never will.

For now, she gets the feeling she should change the subject.

"My freshman year semi-formal theme was called Under the Stars."

She doesn't know why her brain decides pulling random anecdotes out of the deepest recesses of her memory is the ideal way to shift gears.

Luckily, Lucas has an amused smile on his face again because of it. She's happy he finds it endearing rather than annoying.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes. But it obviously wasn't anywhere near this beautiful." She gestures to the sky. "Truthfully, the decorations were pretty subpar. I don't think the committee was trying that hard. No one really cares about the freshmen."

Lucas nods. "My freshman year dance was spent at the bowling alley. That was actually the night I bowled my first over 200."

"So time well spent, then."

"Clearly."

Riley likes how naturally her smile stays on her face while she talks to him. It takes no effort at all.

"The only things I really remember about that dance are the dress I wore and the guy I danced with. The dress was this flowery lavender knee-length—I mean, absolutely atrocious when matched with the theme, but a pretty dress on its own. The guy was my friend Charlie Gardner."

Lucas hums. "You like him?"

"A little, I guess." She shrugs. "But I liked the dress more."

This earns a chuckle. Riley folds her hands on her stomach, twisting her fingers nervously.

"I think the reason I remember it so distinctly anyway is because it was the night I had my first kiss. With Charlie, I feel I should clarify. I wasn't just dancing it up with one guy and then kissing another. No way was freshman year me bold enough for that." She exhales, searching for the point in her own rantings. "I guess that's what really made me like him, because we dated for the rest of high school after that."

Lucas raises an eyebrow. "No kidding."

"No kidding." She sighs. "But yeah, I think that's why I remember it. Because that's just one of those things, you know, your first kiss. One of those life experiences. Like bowling a strike, only… a different sort of category."

He takes an oddly long amount of time to respond. His gaze is directed towards the stars, avoiding hers. "I'll take your word for it."

Riley crinkles her nose. "Wait, what?"

"I'll have to take your word for it. Considering my lack of knowledge on the Sundance dating scene—,"

Riley sits up, shocked for the second time that evening. "You've never been kissed?"

"Okay, well let's look at it logically," Lucas says defensively, pushing himself into a sitting position. "I've never been on a date. I spent all my free time either bowling or hiding in horse stables. I had no female friends."

"Okay, none of that means anything. You could've still kissed someone. Boy or girl, that doesn't matter." She gestures vaguely, searching for the obvious flaw in his logic. "I'm sure a horse stable would be a perfectly romantic place to have your first kiss."

"You have clearly never stepped foot in a stable."

Riley huffs, rolling her eyes.

"I know it's weird." His tone is soft again, more sheepish than before. She hates that she made him feel that way. "I don't really talk about it, I don't know."

"No, no, it's not weird. I'm not saying it's like you should've had one by now or something. I'm just…" Riley shakes her head, lost for words. What she wants to say is that she doesn't see how all of the girls—all of the anybody—at his school couldn't look at his face and decide they absolutely must be the first to kiss Lucas Friar.

Yet, here he is. Far, far away from the only place he's ever known, which clearly did not appreciate what they had when they had it. She feels indignant on his behalf, but more so disbelieving at the fact that she's been collecting life experiences all day long from him and never spared a thought towards which ones he himself might have missed.

"Do you…" she hesitates, trying to figure out exactly what she wants to ask. "I mean, do you _want_ to be kissed? You know, in theory?"

"I mean, yeah, in theory." He shrugs, scratching behind his ear and avoiding her eyes. He clears his throat, shrugging. "It just wasn't a priority at the time I guess. It's not like a big thing. Like yeah, eventually I would definitely want to do that."

She's relieved the flush in his cheeks matches her own. "Right."

"Yeah."

Lucas lets the word linger before it drifts into silence, settling in the air between them.

Riley has no idea what logic her brain is operating on, because she almost can't believe the next words that come out of her mouth. Maybe it's a desperate attempt to fill the silence, maybe it's some convoluted way of repaying the debts she's accrued throughout the day—but she evidently doesn't think it through before she speaks it aloud.

"I could teach you."

It's impressive, how quickly his head snaps up. His eyes are wide. "What?"

It's equally impressive how quickly Riley develops a sense of cotton mouth. Her throat is suddenly very dry, and whatever words she just spewed out may as well have been her last because she's out of them when it comes time to explain herself.

"I just meant, you know, it's one of those experiences. That everyone should have—when they're ready, obviously. You've already taught me something today, so it would be like me repaying the favor."

He's no longer staring at her, but somehow that's worse. He's blinking at the grass underneath them, potentially having a heart attack. Or a stroke. Whichever one makes you incapable of responding.

"Not like, repaying it like _that_ , but—,"

She wonders absentmindedly if it's possible to die from embarrassment. Maybe that was his evil plan all along—wait until she inevitably does something unbearably humiliating, and let her do the dirty work for him. If so, he picked the perfect target when he agreed to get in her car.

"I just really believe that your first kiss should be in a situation where you're comfortable. And it's safe, you know?" She doubts he can even understand her at this point. She's shifted into hyper drive, where the words are spilling out of her mouth so fast she doesn't even think them before they're out in the air suffocating her. "With someone you trust. And I just thought, you know, I could be that person for you in the case of getting it out of the way." She swallows. Why is there suddenly no air? "Not getting it out of the way, no, but experiencing it. If that's what you wanted. It's like—,"

"Okay," he says suddenly, disrupting her ramble.

It's the most effective way to disengage hyper drive she's ever had tested on her. She shuts up instantly, certain she's still alive only because of how hard her heart is pounding against her rib cage. "Okay?"

He shrugs, glancing at her before diverting his gaze back up to the stars. "Okay."

There's a sense of inertia between the two of them until Riley realizes if she's being the teacher, she should probably be the first to make a move.

"Okay. Okay, yes. Sure." She clears her throat, trying to rebuild some of that disarming comfort she's shared with him all day long. Instead of whatever the hell uneasiness she's created between them now. "I think first, we should have a discussion about the general basics."

Lucas drops his eyes back down to meet hers, frowning in confusion. "A discussion? Do people usually talk about kissing before they do it?"

"Well, no, not typically. Well, scratch that, yes. They should be, if they're checking for consent. And that's number one priority at all times."

"Right, I knew that."

"Good. I'm glad. Don't you forget it."

Genuinely, it's a bit of a relief that as a principle, consent is not foreign to him—but considering how polite and respectful he's been the entire time they've been traveling together, it doesn't necessarily surprise her.

"Kissing is a layered and faceted art form but essentially, there are two different foundational kinds of kisses to be considered in the arena of your first."

Lucas hesitates, then nods. "Alright. Go on."

"There's the first type of kiss, which is rather simplistic in its nature, but just as effective depending on a number of circumstances. It's often quick, nothing more than a peck as the kids might say. This is usually the kind you'd have as your first, say, with your friend at a high school semi-formal."

"Like I said, I'll take your word for it."

"Then the other kind of kissing…" Riley isn't sure how to articulate it. "I don't know. It's like, deeper, I suppose. Usually because it means something more. It's rare for it to be a first kiss. You need that history there, you know, that stronger connection to sort of ease into one like this."

Endearingly, Lucas almost looks a little scared. "And you think about this every time you kiss?"

"No, no," she assures him, waving him off. "This is more in hindsight for me. When you kiss, it's not typically so… structured. It's not usually a lesson."

"Right."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that."

"Nice save."

She smiles and he laughs in spite of himself, breaking some of the tension that has formed between them. She's grateful, because she can't fathom how she's going to go through with this if she doesn't regain that sense of comfort. She still doesn't understand why she thought suggesting it was a good idea in the first place.

But then, Lucas did agree. And he's going in blind, so she has to come off like she's got at least some credit to her name. If she wants to be a nervous wreck, it'll have to wait until later.

"So, do we just…" He swallows. "I mean, is that the lecture, or—?"

"Yeah, um, that's all I really wanted to say." She brushes some hair behind her ear, making a point of scooting a little closer to him. "Sorry, I didn't go to school to be a professor."

"You're fine." He shrugs, keeping his eyes on his fingers tapping against his knee.

Clearly waiting for her to take the lead in what's supposed to happen next.

Riley reaches forward and lightly touches the sleeve of his jacket. Lucas glances at her hand before locking eyes with her, waiting for instructions. Now that she's that much closer, it's a little harder to focus.

She avoids his eyes and glances down at his lips, wondering how on Earth she got herself into this situation. Wondering how on Earth no one else has kissed them yet. They look perfectly kissable to her.

"Do I do something with my hands or…" He licks his lips, adjusting slightly to face her. "I mean, I don't want to—,"

"It's not a big deal," she promises him. "It's one of those things you figure out as you go."

"Okay."

"Yeah."

There's a tense silence, but Riley isn't sure whether the tension stems from nerves, or from the limited distance between them. All that potential energy, impatiently waiting to become kinetic.

"So, now we just…"

"Yeah." She blinks, locking eyes with him for a brief moment before drifting back down to his mouth. All the sudden, everything seems incredibly simple. "Now we just…"

She lets her own sentence remain unfinished, allowing herself to lean forward and press her lips against his.

It's not the most natural kiss she's ever had, but that she expected going in. What she's surprised by is that sense of comfort, how it seems to just snap back into place the moment they come together. If anything, she was anticipating it would break apart entirely and they'd lose it for good.

But it's the exact opposite. She can't read his mind to speak for him—if only she could—but there's something about the kiss that's unlike any she's ever shared before. She can't put her finger on it, but that serendipity that has been laced through all of their interactions since the moment she bumped into him is more apparent than ever. He gives her a sensation she's never felt before, something she realizes she's been craving for what feels like forever even if she doesn't have a name to put to it.

As she promised, Lucas figures out what to do with his hands on his own. He reaches out and places his palm against the metal of the car next to hers, hesitating before lightly brushing his fingertips across the back of her hand.

It's belonging, she recognizes. That feeling that sends goosebumps along her arms even though its seventy degrees. It's been so long since she's felt anything like it, it's like she's been in hibernation. That's why everything about it feels so different.

Like she's gone so long without it, she didn't even realize she was starving.

The kiss is unprecedentedly long for a first, so it doesn't surprise her when Lucas pulls back before her. It's a good sign that he has that natural instinct and didn't need her cue. She was so lost in her own head, she might have stayed there forever.

"So," she says, opening her eyes. She's surprised to find his still closed, as if he's still processing it. Out of the moment by instinct, but not caught up in every other way.

Another second, and his eyes flutter open. He keeps them cast down towards the hood between them, his voice quiet and thoughtful. "So."

"Not quite the same as bowling a strike."

"No," he agrees. Finally, finally, he meets her eyes. "More minty."

Miraculously, that phrase alone is enough to deflate any remaining tension from the night around them. Riley bursts into laughter, so flooded with relief that she falls back against the window of the car. So happy that her risky move didn't completely derail everything she likes so much about their friendship.

Minty. Yeah, she supposes, she's grateful for the gum too.

Lucas lays back next to her, gazing up at the stars again. It's evident he's not planning to talk much more, the desire to get lost in his own head written all over his features. It's a relatively soft expression for a boy who constantly looks so intense. She decides she rather likes it.

"Should probably get to the hotel soon," he murmurs. "Don't want them to think I murdered you."

Oh, what could've been. Riley finds herself smiling.

"One more minute," she concedes, sighing and filling up on as much starlight as she can while it's so beautifully mapped out in front of her.

If Lucas had pulled this on a Sundance girl, she is certain it would've worked. Just going by logic, the view and his natural charm are a devastatingly difficult combination to resist.

"I want to make sure I remember."

* * *

The drive back to the main road and then to their reservation in Birmingham is quiet, but not in a way that grates on her. It's peaceful, both of them thinking to themselves as the world of Alabama passes by them in a dark blur of street lights and late night fluorescents.

It's an unexpected twist when they clamber their way into the room after the lengthy day and discover there's only one bed, rather than the anticipated two. Instead, there's a nice desk and a couple of cushy armchairs. More of an executive suite than a double bedroom.

"Oh, no," Riley exhales, stepping into the room and dropping her bags. "I could've sworn I asked for two."

"This was one of your original reservations, right?" Lucas hangs by the doorway, clutching the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. He shrugs. "You probably just forgot about it."

"I'm so sorry. I'll go see if they can change it."

"It's not a big deal." Lucas swoops past her, moving further into the room and assessing the situation. He drops his backpack on one of the armchairs, eyeing the other one. "We can make this work."

A wave panic shoots through her at the only solution her mind can come up with. She feels like she's trapped in a cheesy romance novel, and now comes the time to share the bed. Classic trope.

Only she never signed up for that. She feels comfortable with Lucas in a way that's not exactly normal, but she's not _that_ comfortable.

Apparently, though, Lucas hasn't read nearly as many romance novels. He's on a completely different track, setting up one of the pillows onto the spare arm chair. As if he's going to sleep there.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" She moves further into the room. "You can't sleep there."

He blinks at her. "Are you suggesting there's a better option?"

"Yes, a real bed. When I talk to the manager. I'm sure they can work something out."

"Riley, it's not a big deal." He crosses his arms. "Believe me, I've slept in worse places. This is like luxury seating."

"You're ridiculous. And you're not sleeping there."

He raises his eyebrows at her, and she sees that ghost of a smirk make its reappearance. "You think you could stop me? What are you going to do, drag me all the way to another room?"

Goodness, he's stubbornly accommodating. Riley huffs, opening her backpack and pulling out her toiletries. "I'm taking a shower."

"Interesting conclusion to this discussion."

"The discussion isn't concluded," she argues, gathering her things. She wanders over to the bathroom, glaring at him. "When I get out of the shower, I'm going to talk to the manager. Right now I'm just so grimy I can't even think straight."

"Bowling alleys will do that to you. Also, drifters."

She sharpens her look, which in response widens the smile on his face. So stubborn. So cute.

"Get ready to switch rooms in fifteen," she demands, not giving him the chance to argue and shutting the door decidedly behind her.

She tries to keep her mind blank as she scrubs herself down, not allowing another spiral that she's sure is waiting on the horizon. There's been a lot to process throughout the day, and she knows it's likely going to be a rough night getting her brain to shut up so she can rest.

But all that considered, she wouldn't change one second of it. Well, maybe the moment where she suggested she teach him how to kiss out of nowhere—she may have approached that situation with a little more subtlety.

But everything else. She wouldn't change a thing. Not for the world.

Amazing, how Lucas has completely turned this trip upside down, and inarguably for the better.

When Riley steps out of the bathroom feeling refreshed and ready to tackle their rooming situation, she discovers disappointingly that Lucas has indeed settled the matter for her. He's passed out in the arm chair as promised, long limbs somehow compacted in the right manner so that he can fall asleep for the night.

It seems insane. It seems unfair, but he was right in that there's nothing she can do about it. She's definitely not going to wake him up and disrupt his well-deserved rest, in any case.

Instead she sighs, shaking her head and grabbing one of the throws draped against the end of the bed. She gently lays the blanket over him, ensuring he at least has some warmth as he roughs it in the arm chair for the night.

Somehow, it's easy to drift off to sleep the moment she turns out the light and her head hits the pillow. How strangely tiring it is, she realizes, to utilize an entire day to its fullest. Living her life instead of drifting along through it.

Tiring, but wondrously fulfilling.

* * *

 **A/N:** She's... she's... ALIVE! Hey everybody, hope you're having a hip and happening 2018. I haven't given up on this lil story yet, so hopefully this won't be the last you see of me round these parts as school kicks off.

In the mean time, enjoy this double update of ATLP and happy Wednesday!


	6. par for the course ( lucas )

Lucas dreams about a universe where things are different.

It's not like he hasn't done it before. If he's being honest, he spent most of his adolescence lost in his own head where his imagination could show him all the things his life could be. When he was younger it was far more fantastical—he could be an astronaut and discover a new planet. He could be the long lost heir to a distant throne, officials showing up on his doorstep to take him away. He could be a world-changing philosopher, traveling the globe to spread knowledge and guidance and peace.

Regardless of where his imagination took him, the end goal was always the same: far, far away from his house, his family, and the Sundance strip.

As he aged, the content of the daydreams shifted into more reasonable, grounded fantasies—a good-paying job. Attending a school that didn't have a permanent record the size of Montana on him and the deck strategically stacked against him because of it. Having a house that felt like a home and people who were happy to see him when he walked back through the door at the end of the day. All of the things that seemed so simple—that he was so desperate to have—that were always out of reach.

When he left before senior year without looking back, he also forced himself to stop the wishful thinking. Daydreaming wasn't going to do him any good surviving on the side of the road. No, Lucas left his imagination back at the strip, and he did just fine without it.

Since getting in that ancient green hatchback, it's made a ferocious comeback.

The new fantasies are somewhere between outlandish and grounded, although they still remain entirely impossible. It's more of the same—growing up in a different place, surrounded by different people, not drifting through the world feeling like the sky's going to fall on him any second and that it would probably be warranted. That daydream, he's had before. He used to have it all the time back in the day.

The only difference this time around is the obvious co-star that's now entered his fantasy. Riley is there wherever he turns, in any new setting he places himself in. She's there, offering him chocolate and crinkling her nose and wanting to hear his stories.

Lucas rolls onto his side, glancing at the clock on the nightstand that tells him it's seven in the morning. Not that he'd gotten much sleep in the past couple hours anyway. Too much overthinking and imagination creating static in his head. Not to mention the ache in his legs from cramming himself into an arm chair all night.

He lets his gaze drift to Riley across from him, curled up under the comforter and sleeping soundly. Her hair is falling out of its ponytail, curling under her cheek like a pillow. It's strange and feels a bit creepy, but there's something weirdly calming about watching her steady breathing as she rests. Her lips are parted just slightly, and his gaze keeps drifting back to them. For whatever reason, he's suddenly having trouble looking away from them.

There's a universe out there where things are different. Where Lucas isn't a complete failure, where he maintains his friendships and goes to school and doesn't make any rash decisions that derail his life. The people who are supposed to support him in these endeavors do so without question. He's happy, and Riley's by his side, sending sunshine smiles his way and taking his hand and encouraging him. Trusting him and believing in him more than he believes in himself.

But they're not in that universe. Lucas is firmly planted in this universe, reality, and if he knows anything for certain, it's that reality fucking sucks.

He tears his gaze away from her by forcing himself to get up, heading out the door for some space to clear his head. He thinks about waking Riley but decides against it, allowing her the extra sleep. God knows he would use it if he could.

Upon entering the lobby, he's pleasantly surprised to discover the continental breakfast being set up. It's the first place they've stayed that offers it complimentary, and with the spread suddenly laid out in front of him he becomes acutely aware of how hungry he is. It's nearly overwhelming, and he feels a little shaky on his feet as he makes his way over to serve himself.

Food is one of those things that's easy to train yourself to live without until it's staring you in the face. He knows his relationship with it isn't exactly orthodox—he's a doctor's nightmare and he knows it—but it's already gotten him into enough trouble in his life and he isn't looking for any more. So he scrapes by with what he can get and doesn't ask for more. Doesn't come to expect any more.

Another facet of his daydreams and fantasies—somehow, he's never hungry.

He hopes the breakfast will distract him from everything else running through his mind and keeping him awake at night, but sitting alone doesn't do much to help that effort. No matter how good an all-you-can-eat buffet tastes after a few days on scraps, it's not tantalizing enough to occupy his thoughts the way Riley Matthews does.

He knows he really screwed things up with the kiss. Not only because he's certain he has to have done something wrong considering he has no idea what he's doing, but more so because it completely shifted their dynamic and now he has no idea how to orient himself around her. He doesn't want it to change—he's absolutely positive she doesn't feel any different and doesn't expect a change—so it feels wrong to suddenly be so confused.

It meant nothing. It's just a kiss. Just a life experience being shared from one almost friend to another. Like bowling a strike. That's what she said, and he knows she's right. She would know—she's had at least one boyfriend and probably exchanged a million kisses with him, so he's inclined to trust her judgment that a kiss shared between near strangers doesn't hold any water.

But Riley doesn't feel like a stranger. She never really has, and the longer he spends in that God forsaken car the stronger his connection to her becomes. He doesn't know the nature of it, but he can tell he's getting invested and he's getting attached and he's getting comfortable and all of the above are luxuries. Luxuries that exist in other universes, for other people, that he'll never be able to afford.

He should never have let her kiss him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

As usual, he distracts himself from his own thoughts with action, getting to his feet and walking the length of the breakfast bar again to stack a plate to-go. It's sort of a habit of his, to take whatever he can get when it's being handed out and grab extra for the road. Who knows how long he'll have to wait until the next one.

By the time he's back in the hall and heading towards their room, he's convinced himself he's going to walk out. He's going to grab his things and hit the road before things get any more complex. Riley's done him a great service, getting him all the way to Alabama and far from the Sundance strip, but every journey has to end somewhere. If he wants to retain any chance of getting out of this with his sanity, he knows it's smartest to quit while he's ahead.

He's going to do what he does best. Run.

Every isolationist notion soaring through his head grinds to a halt when he opens the door and slips inside, surprised to see Riley just waking up. She sits up on her elbow, tossing him a sleepy smile. "Good morning."

Something about her smile makes all his grand plans go out the window. He decides he can survive a little longer in her company.

"Morning." He enters the room fully, finding himself holding out the plate before he realizes what he's doing. "I brought you breakfast."

Riley's eyes widen in shock, causing her to sit fully upright. "You didn't have to do that."

"No big deal, really." Lucas shrugs as she takes the plate from him, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I was down there anyway."

"Well, thank you," she says anyway, sincerity shining through her gaze as she beams up at him. She gestures for him to sit, offering the space at the foot of her bed as she shifts her attention to the food. Lucas starts to move forward before he hesitates, examining her curiously and wondering if allowing himself to get that close to her is really the best idea.

Predictably, his eyes fall to her lips. For a split second, he finds himself wondering if she would let him kiss her again.

He chooses to take a seat back in his trusty arm chair instead, allowing for a generous distance between the two of them.

"Where are we going today? A lot of driving or not as much?" Riley asks.

He shrugs. "I'm not sure. We'll have to check the map."

"You?" She gasps, dropping her jaw in faux shock. It transforms into a smile halfway through at his eye roll in response. "You, the gatekeeper and holy defender of the itinerary, don't even know what the next stop is?"

"Blah, blah, blah," he retorts, earning a laugh from her as he waves her off.

Once they check out and head back to Dave, Riley insists on driving while Lucas loads their things in the back. She reminds him of how he drove last night and how it's really her turn if they're following protocol, and he doesn't think it's worth the effort to argue with her. In any case, she seems well-rested and enthusiastic and up for the task, so who is he to deny her the responsibility?

He thinks about telling her the only reason he drove home yesterday was because it gave him something to focus on rather than tearing himself up over the kiss and how he probably did everything wrong. He's pretty sure "minty" isn't exactly the best feedback you can get from a lip lock.

But she seems to be long past it, so he allows himself to move on as well. Not worth dwelling on it any more than necessary.

It would be much easier done if her lips weren't so good at catching his attention.

* * *

"Atlanta," Lucas declares, tapping the map with the pen over their next destination. "Capitol and cultural epicenter of Georgia. Also the birthplace of Martin Luther King Jr. and a common backdrop for television shoots."

Riley tosses an amused look at him out of the corner of her eye. "Okay, thanks, Wikipedia."

He nods, folding up the map as he returns it back to the glove compartment. He can feel Riley's gaze as she looks between him and the road, curiosity etched in her features. Figuring a question is on its way and hoping its one he can answer, he distracts himself with carefully picking up her phone from the median and exploring Spotify a little more.

"How do you know so much about all these places?" The question finally arrives after couple minutes of Fleetwood Mac. "You say you've never left Texas but you've known more about most of our stops than I have. How is that possible?"

Lucas shrugs, propping his feet up on the dashboard while he thinks about it. He doesn't even realize he's doing it until it strikes him that this is still her car and he shouldn't be getting his dirt all over it from his shoes.

Boy, comfortability is dangerous.

"I read atlases a lot as a kid," he explains, dropping his feet back down to the car floor. "My grandpa collected them and I devoured them. So I guess I was well prepared for such a situation as this, but mostly my head is just full of useless information. Like, fun fact about Georgia, their state bird is the brown thrasher."

"Brown thrasher?" she repeats, making a face and crinkling her nose. "That sounds violent."

"Maybe. But it's really only about 20 centimeters tall. You could probably step on it if you had to."

"Why would I step on a bird?"

"I'm not saying you _should_ ," he says defensively, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm just saying if the brown thrasher decided to thrash _you_ , you could take it. At least, I believe that you could."

Riley gives him a fond smile. "Well, thank you."

"You're welcome." Lucas continues to skip around songs, hesitating when he hears the familiar guitar of a Beatles opening. He grins wider when he recognizes the actual tune, grateful for a song he actually knows. "Oh, this is a good one."

"So you're an expert on three things—cheesy comfort food, state birds, and The Beatles."

Lucas doesn't dignify her comment with a response, bouncing his head along to the beat and half-mumbling the words. As far as their music goes, _Kansas City / Hey-Hey-Hey-Hey_ isn't exactly The Beatles' most complex jam and it's fairly easy for him to remember the words from the few times he's heard it.

Riley raises her eyebrows at him, the trace of a smile on her face. "Are you humming? Is mysterious Lucas Friar of the Sundance strip actually humming?"

He narrows his eyes at her, tilting his head as if he's contemplating it. He can't recall a time he sang along to a song on the radio, in fact he's hard-pressed to remember the last time he sang period. Considering he's not very good at it, his lack of memories seems self-explanatory.

But he's never been one to back down from a challenge, and Riley's definitely presenting the question as some sort of invitation. Besides, there's a first time for everything. She's already helped him enough in that regard, intentionally and otherwise.

" _Ah, Kansas City,_ " he half-sings, half-states. " _Gonna get my baby on time."_

"Kansas City? I thought we were going to Atlanta."

 _"I'm goin' to Kansas City, gonna get my baby on time._ " He pauses, before leaning towards her and elbowing her lightly. " _Yeah, yeah._ "

She laughs, gripping the steering wheel tighter and giving him a wild look. "This is crazy. Am I dreaming? Should I pull over? Do I need to take you to the hospital?"

Lucas continues to sing along, gaining confidence from Riley's teasing and really getting into it. He completely forgets about precaution as he props his feet back up on the dashboard, stuck between singing and laughing and still finding it a little hard to breathe in the presence of her grin.

" _Hey, hey, hey, hey!_ " He nudges her again, lightly tapping her arm. "You can sing along to this part."

"I don't know the words," she argues.

"There aren't any, it's just hey!" he shoots back, continuing to poke at her arm as the chorus comes back around again. When the cue comes around again, he takes on the call-and-response of the song and prompts her again. " _Hey, hey, hey, hey!_ "

" _Hey, hey, hey, hey!"_ She relents, sing-shouting back to him and bursting into laughter when he cheers her on.

They continue the back and forth as the song progresses, up until they're both just shouting _bye_ along with the band. When it comes to an end and the music peters out, switching to another classic rock tune, the car is still alight with their chuckles.

"Wish I'd gotten that on video," Riley admits, shaking her head slightly.

Lucas makes a noise of disagreement, looking out the window. "No video recording allowed. I'm like a cryptid. There can't be any proof of my existence. Only rumors, blurry photos, and the occasional sighting."

"That so?" Riley rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling. "Well, then I guess I consider myself pretty lucky to be one of the few people with a true sighting. Guess being a klutz does you some good every now and then, huh? Makes you stumble into the stuff of legends."

He knows she's humoring him, but he has to admit he's pretty grateful she's so klutzy. Although their trip has its ups and downs and he has no idea when it's going to abruptly come to an end, he doesn't know where he'd be right now if he hadn't run into her on the strip. He can't even imagine it, despite how little ago it was his reality.

He glances in her direction, locking eyes with her for a brief second before she smiles and focuses back on the road. He can't help the smirk that spreads across his face in response, shifting his gaze back out towards the highway and chewing on his thumbnail.

For all intents and purposes, he considers himself pretty lucky too.

* * *

A couple hours outside of Atlanta, Riley pulls them off the highway to stop in one of the smaller towns for lunch. With the unusually large amount Lucas ate for breakfast he's not particularly hungry, but he's in a good mood and doesn't want to protest today. For once, he decides to let himself enjoy the afternoon for a little while.

Riley picks a small bistro on the corner of the main street, leading the way inside and allowing the hostess to lead them to a square table towards the back. It's a cozy place, lights dimmed and shades drawn to keep out the summer sun. Despite the obvious air conditioning, the place is still a tad warm thanks to the Southern heat, and Lucas finds himself shedding his jacket before they even sit down.

He's also surprised when Riley doesn't take the seat across from him, electing to take the seat directly to his right instead and as a result situating them more closely together than he had been anticipating. It's warm, sure, but he's pretty sure that's not why he has to wipe his palms on his jeans under the table to keep them from sweating.

In lieu of allowing Lucas to refuse food once again, Riley decides on getting something for them to split. Although he's initially reluctant, the idea turns out to be a good one and he's pretty satisfied by the time they're finishing up the plate.

Shifting focus, Riley pushes the plate back and spreads the map out on the table in front of them. While she traces the rest of their route with her finger, Lucas takes a better look around at the restaurant. With the dim lighting and warm food, something about it feels particularly intimate. Thinking back on the discussion of dates, he has to admit this wouldn't be a bad spot to choose for such an occasion.

Clearly the other patrons have the same idea, because it's hard to find any diners who aren't in a pair of two. He supposes it's good that they blend right in, but considering their relationship is far from the type that would warrant cozy dates he's not sure that they deserve the right to be dining here anymore.

The only other people that seem out of the ordinary are a trio of three young teenagers snickering with one another a couple tables away and glued to their phones, and a scrawny, bespectacled guy in a dark red turtleneck. He's hunched over a bunch of papers and obviously hard at work, but Lucas catches him throw a glance their way more than a couple times in the span of time he spends examining his surroundings.

The stranger looks up again just as he's contemplating this, catching him staring at him. Embarrassed, Lucas swivels away and focuses back on Riley next to him.

"So from Atlanta it's South Carolina, then Myrtle Beach." She lifts her gaze to lock eyes with him, offering a smile. "Are you excited to see it?"

He shrugs. "I don't think Myrtle Beach in particular is super exciting, but it'll be cool to see the ocean."

"Wait. You've never seen the ocean?" She blinks. "You've never been to the beach?"

Lucas is starting to realize this game of surprise is becoming a pattern between them. The unfortunate pattern of growing up in such vastly different circumstances. Not that he would ever, ever want Riley to have grown up with his lot in life and trapped in the Sundance strip.

He raises his eyebrows, picking up his fork and poking at the edge of the plate in front of him. "Riley, do you know what the term land-locked means?"

"Yes, oh wise wanderer, I don't need a lecture," she teases.

"Well, with that information, and knowing I've never left the state or gone very far from where you picked me up, surely you can put two and two together—,"

"Alright, alright," she relents. She hesitates until Lucas drops the fork and crosses his arms on the table, offering her a smile that encourages her to continue. She smiles back. "I don't know. I guess that just seems weird to me. Like, the beach isn't my favorite place, but it's something everyone should see once in their lifetime. So it's a little sad."

Lucas can't help but laugh. "Yeah, that's how I'd describe most of my life."

"You say that like it's funny."

"It is."

Riley doesn't have an argument, merely shaking her head and humming disagreement. When Lucas raises his hands in surrender, she leans forward and gives his arm a light nudge. "Well, you're about to see it. I'm going to get you there. So it won't be that sad anymore."

He nods along. "East coast, here we come."

"Yep!" She smiles wider. Then, she giggles. "It's like I'm your Sherpa."

Lucas is pretty sure he knows enough of the English language to get by, but when Riley drops that phrase he wonders if maybe he's far more illiterate than he feared. "You're my _what_?"

"Sherpa." She blushes, laughing in spite of herself and pushing some hair behind her ear. "It's one of those people who helps people mountain climb, like at Mt. Everest. My ex-boyfriend in college wanted to be one."

"Huh. That's…"

"Special, yeah." She shrugs, playing absentmindedly with the ring on her pinky finger. Her eyes are on the table in front of her, but suddenly she feels far away. Lost in thought. "I used to tell him that was a crazy dream, but he was all over it. He said there was something about the way people looked when they were at the top of the mountain… he worked at a ski lodge during breaks, for clarification."

"Ah."

Riley props her elbows on the table, lifting her gaze to lock eyes with him. "Yeah, he just said there was something about the way people looked. When they'd accomplished something amazing, or gone somewhere they never thought they could go. A special look."

Lucas subconsciously wonders if he's worn the Sherpa look in the last few days. Considering all the new places he's been, places he genuinely never thought he could go, he has to imagine that he's thrown out some expressions that are relatively close. Sure, he hasn't climbed any mountains, but crossing the state line out of Texas and almost hitting the end of the continent feels just as impressive.

"What's the look like?"

"I don't know." She hesitates, licking her lips. Then, she offers him a soft smile. "He always said you'd know it when you saw it."

Sitting here with Riley, looking into her eyes, he has to wonder if he's wearing that look right now. He catches himself looking at her lips again, forcing himself to meet her eyes instead. Trying not to think about all the potential caught between them that he's too afraid to pursue.

"I guess we'll see when we get to the beach. I'll be sure to keep an eye out for it."

Lucas nods, struggling to find something to add to the conversation. With the dim lighting and soft conversation and being so close to her, his mind is suddenly foggier than usual. "Guess we better get going, then."

"South Carolina, here we come," Riley agrees softly. But she doesn't move from her chair.

For a painfully long moment, Lucas thinks he catches her glance down at his lips. For a painfully long moment, he finds himself doubting that his lingering fixation on their kiss from the night before is completely one-sided.

In that moment, there's a sense of electricity between them, and Lucas is both curious and terrified to ponder that all that potential between them is something that could actually be explored. That it isn't such a wild, ridiculous notion.

Reality blasts him out of his internal hysteria with a surprise of its own a moment later.

"I couldn't help but overhear," someone boldly interrupts, causing both of them to jump in spite of themselves. Lucas swivels around to find the turtleneck patron from the table over suddenly hovering behind him.

He's taller than he anticipated, and upon closer inspection the sweater he's wearing is a very nice material—cashmere, likely. His glasses are round, the tortoise shell frames a bit too large for his angular face. Although he doesn't seem intimidating by any means, Lucas has a bad feeling when he offers them a friendly smile.

As though no matter what's going to come out of this stranger's mouth next, he's about to make his world a whole lot more difficult.

Riley's examining him curiously, obviously surprised by his presence but not necessarily antagonistic towards it. She tilts her head at him. "Can we help you?"

"Actually, I do believe you can," he says emphatically, wandering around and gesturing to the seat on her right. "May I?"

She exchanges a look with Lucas before shrugging, allowing the turtleneck patron to slide into the chair.

"I couldn't help but overhear you're going to South Carolina. I was wondering if you would at all consider picking up a hitchhiker and taking me along with you."

The request hangs in the air as Riley processes it. Lucas attempts to catch up to this turn of events as well, automatically detecting that bringing this guy along with them is the last thing they should do. Not because he seems dicey—he's a lot less questionable-looking than himself, if he's being honest—but because Riley's already putting up one hitchhiker for a ride she never signed up for, and he doesn't see how she could possibly support another.

But then, he is the one taking advantage of her hospitality. It's her vehicle, not his. So he doesn't offer an opinion.

"South Carolina?" she finally asks. "Why are you going to South Carolina?"

The silence on his part doesn't last long. Against his better judgment but in defense of her best interest, Lucas speaks up. "We don't even know who you are."

This seems to strike the patron. He raises his eyebrows, before breaking into a sheepish smile. "Right. You're absolutely correct. Allow me to properly introduce myself before I attempt to strike a deal. I'm Farkle Minkus."

He offers a hand. Riley takes it, squinting slightly. "Minkus. Why does that sound so familiar?"

"My father owns Minkus International. It's a rather wealthy corporation with headquarters in many of the major cities. New York, Los Angeles, London. Perhaps you've heard of it."

"No, never," Lucas starts sharply.

"Oh, yeah!" Riley interrupts him, eyes lighting up with recognition. "I've seen the building before. It was right by my high school growing up. One of the prettiest skyscrapers in the city."

Lucas bites his tongue. He truly should just keep his mouth shut.

"I grew up in New York," Riley explains further, letting go of his hand.

Farkle nods in approval, smiling. "Likewise. Funny we never crossed paths. Where did you go to high school?"

"Abigail Adams."

"Oh, yeah. That's familiar. I went to Einstein Academy for high school, but I think I would've gone to Adams if I didn't take the gifted route. Einstein's a magnet school."

"Yes, I remember it!" Riley's eyes are bright, twinkling with nostalgia. She's smiling as wide as he's seen her yet this trip, obviously excited to meet someone who she shares such a relevant history with. "You guys beat us at all the decathlons. What a small world."

"Small, indeed."

They share smiles. Lucas clears his throat, desperately trying not to fade into irrelevancy. He's lived there long enough, and it's suffocating. "You were telling us about South Carolina."

"Right, of course. Well, I'm currently a senior in college studying for my bachelor's degree in biomedical engineering. Par for the course, I'm gunning for a graduate degree from Harvard."

"Par for the course," Lucas agrees. He tries to keep the venom out of his tone, but isn't as successful as he hopes.

"So I'm finishing up this semester, only to discover that I'd neglected to fulfill one of those final psychology courses. You know, one of those classes you take to round out your education. Thus, I opted to take the class as a post-graduation summer semester course, and now I'm nearing completion of it. And a big part of it was that I was going to take this grand trip from St. Louis to Charleston, examining people as I went and ultimately getting a hands-on sort of experience at interfacing with people."

Lucas can't help but notice that he refers to social interaction as interfacing. He also can't imagine casually forgetting to take a class in college when he never even got to take one in the first place.

Riley nods along, obviously intrigued.

"Problem is, my ride fell through when the rental car I was working with broke down. Just here, this morning in fact. And I've been contacting my father through all of this, of course—he's helping fund the excursion, naturally—and sure, it'll all work out eventually but if I want things to stay on track I'm going to need to get to Charleston by tomorrow evening in time for my flight back to New York."

Lucas can practically see Riley putting the pieces together in her head as he explains, her nose crinkling as she concentrates. He smiles in spite of himself.

"So, you're trying to get to Charleston. To catch your flight."

"Yes. And as you two were discussing—pardon my eavesdropping, although I must admit I'm not all that apologetic—you're heading that way, and it would be an absolute life and wallet saver if you would consider allowing me to tag along. Just for the next day."

It's obvious Riley is contemplating the situation. Lucas knows she's smart, smarter than him undoubtedly, and that she'll weigh all the pros and cons before making her decision. He trusts her to make the right choice, regardless of his opinion.

But a sizeable part of him wishes his opinion did matter. Because not only is Farkle already ticking at his nerves by some natural ability to push his buttons, but he's gotten quite comfortable with their current arrangement. Part of him resents the idea that someone else is going to join their car and their journey and the tiny world they've built together across the continental U.S.

That part of him exists, but it's not a part he's proud of. It's another one of those uglier edges to his personality—a new one, sure, but ugly nonetheless—that he's desperately trying to erase. That he's trying to keep under wraps before Riley sees them and realizes he's really the person she doesn't want in her car with her.

"I assure you, I won't be a burden. I'll fund myself and everything."

The statement feels like a particularly pointed reminder from reality just how much of a liability he actually is. Lucas crosses his arms, chewing the inside of his cheek in lieu of saying something he'll regret.

Riley tosses him a curious look, before releasing a sigh. "Well, I don't see why I would say no. It's only for a day, after all."

"Excellent!" Farkle cheers, getting to his feet. "Let me just gather my things. Oh, no, don't worry about the check. This one is on me. As a thank-you."

He picks up the check off their table and takes it back to his own, organizing all his things and heading over to the register. Lucas and Riley watch him go, slowly getting to their feet.

"You sure about this?" he questions as they watch Farkle pay the check in full before beckoning them to the doors. "Picking up a complete stranger?"

"It's only for a day," Riley states, although it sounds more like she's attempting to assure herself than him. Then she smiles at him, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, I took a chance on you, didn't I? Went so well the first time."

Although there's a fondness behind the tease, Lucas can't help but focus on the truth of that statement. Here he is, treating picking up this new guy like the absolute worst idea in the world when that's exactly what she did for him. Not only is he being ridiculous, now he's a hypocrite too.

So many ugly, jagged sides of him, so little time to wear them down to dull edges.

Lucas pulls his jacket back on, thankful for the familiarity of it. It's the best armor he's got, and considering the mouth on their new car companion and his incrementally dwindling patience, he figures he's going to need it.

* * *

For how quickly Lucas learned that life was so much simpler when he keeps his mouth shut, he realizes even quicker how Farkle must not have ever received that lesson. Because he never. Stops. Talking.

It completely disrupts the dynamic of Dave's interior. Where there once was balanced conversation between him and Riley—an easy, almost effortless banter he's only ever experienced with his former best friend—there's now Riley's soft voice attempting to get a word in edgewise against the absolute conversation tyrant that is Farkle Minkus. Where there once was the occasional content silence while the world drifted past them in pursuit of that something greater, there is now the constant presence of Farkle's eccentric ramblings about all the million and one things he can afford and experience that Lucas can only begin to fathom.

Suffice to say, despite his best efforts he finds himself in a pretty sour mood by the time they cross the county line and officially enter the city of Atlanta.

Lucas is trying his absolute best to keep his disdain to himself. He doesn't want Riley to get a hint of his negativity, so he's spending a good amount of time looking out the window and gritting his teeth while she takes the brunt of humoring Farkle's conversation. He finds himself clenching his fists, lightly bumping his thigh to assuage the urge to do something else. Anything else.

He was doing so good. It's been so long since he was angry. He's never exactly been happy, that's more than true, but neutral for the sake of survival is a large improvement over constantly consumed with rage he doesn't know how to explain or expel.

He doesn't want to be that person again. He doesn't want Riley to ever know that version of him. So he sticks to looking out the window.

Whatever it is about Farkle that gets him so easily agitated, its power weakens outside of the tight confines of the hatchback. The moment they step out into the Atlanta cityscape and Lucas gets to inhale a breath of fresh air that isn't already recycled Minkus oxide, he feels a little bit better.

That is until he inevitably opens his mouth again.

"If you want to get the most out of Atlanta," Farkle says, a distinctive combination of chipper and condescending, "you absolutely have to start at the Olympic Park."

Oh. So that's how it's going to be.

Farkle barrels his way through their planned itinerary—not that they really had much of a set one to begin with, but that's seemed to be working for them so far—and his approach is much more methodical and goal-oriented than either of them particularly desired. Lucas's whole thing is that he doesn't really have goals, so suddenly running around Atlanta as if he's a busy body with places to be is a startling and disenchanting change of pace.

Floating along through the country with Riley doesn't feel like drifting, and it's dream-like in how calm and settled it feels. Lulling.

Traveling with Farkle is a nightmare, and he desperately wants to wake up.

It isn't until Riley manages to get her preferred pastime in that their pace slows down to a manageable rate. She opts for taking a late afternoon walk around one of the smaller Atlanta suburbs before dinner, an observation of everyday humanity that Farkle doesn't seem to comprehend but respects out of deference to his host. Lucas is glad he at least has that courtesy, or he genuinely isn't sure he'd be able to keep his fists in his jacket pockets.

The walk is the only part of the day he actually enjoys. It could be better, as Riley is trailing behind him with Farkle to continue to humor his fact spewing rather than talking with him. But there's something distinctly freeing about roaming a community that feels lived in, seeing a place that feels survivable. So much of the strip is a throttling, dull grey-brown, whereas here he's surrounded by green.

He finds himself thinking he could disappear here—that if he had to settle here in the suburbs of Atlanta as his final drifting spot, he could probably hack it.

He absentmindedly wonders to himself how fast Riley's imagination is running right now. He figures that's why she wanted to stray from the tourist path and visit a cozy suburb like this one—to see how the other half lives. To people watch and build an entire backstory for them in her mind, giving the pocket town a much grander and more colorful existence than it probably deserves.

He's glad she told him she's a writer. It seems to fit her perfectly, and for whatever reason he loves it about her. One of many things, he's starting to notice.

Then, for a terrifyingly surreal second, he realizes she's probably got a backstory built for him too. He can't imagine how wrong it must be.

"Help!"

Lucas hears the cry first, lifting his head from staring at the sidewalk to scan the area for the source of the noise. Riley and Farkle pause behind him, also listening for what may have just been part of their collective active imagination.

The second occurrence is less likely to be a trick of the mind.

"Help!"

Lucas looks over his shoulder to exchange a look with Riley. He only holds her gaze for half a second before she's gliding past him, jogging further into the neighborhood in pursuit of the outcry.

"Is she going after it?" Farkle questions, coming to stand next to him.

Lucas doesn't hesitate, starting to chase after her. "She's got a thing for helping strangers."

When he finally catches up to Riley, it quickly becomes apparent there's a situation unfolding that shatters the cozy dreamscape both of them had been building up in their heads. There's a small crowd gathered in the middle of the road, and a car with its hazards blinking is messily parked a few feet away. The most clear sound is the noise of a child crying.

"I'm sorry," a man is saying, obviously trying to assuage the heartbroken kid. "I'm so, so sorry."

Lucas cranes his neck to see over the crowd of children with bikes and skateboards just as Riley lets out an exhale. "Oh, no."

Although he's relieved to discover that it's not a human that fell victim to the careless driving of the evidently distraught man attempting to cover his ass, the alternative isn't much better. A small terrier dog is laying in the middle of the road, clearly having attempted to cross the street just as the car wanted to drive the same patch of gravel. The child closest to it is downright inconsolable, sobbing and wailing the cries for help that brought them around in the first place.

"I don't know what we can—," Riley starts, but Lucas is already pushing his way into the crowd. For once, he feels like he was dropped into the right place at exactly the right time.

For once, he feels like he may actually be useful.

"Hey, hey," he says, making his way to the center of the circle. The children don't put up much of a fight not to let him through, parting like the Red Sea in the presence of someone so much older than them. He's less intimidating than the middle-aged man trying to get them on his side for nearly killing their pet, but not quite a kid like them.

Yet definitely not a grown adult. Somewhere confusingly and deceptively in the purgatory between the two.

Whoever created the myth that your 20s are the best years of your life was obviously either never 23, or incredibly wasted.

"What's going on?"

The boy crouched in front of the injured terrier attempts to answer, but he's not comprehensible in any fashion. Lucas gets more information by analyzing the scenario for himself anyway. He drops to a crouch and reaches forward to check the pup, assessing that he's breathing and maintaining a heart rate of some kind.

Riley comes up behind him, grimacing at the mangled limb of the dog at the center of the ring. She averts her eyes and focuses on the frenzied dog owner, lowering herself down to his level and attempting to talk to him in a soft, soothing voice.

"That man hit Bobo with his car," one of the older kids explains, having determined that Lucas is a friend rather than a foe in this situation.

"It was an accident!"

Lucas ignores the driver, focusing on evaluating the state of the dog—Bobo—and his damaged limbs. The tail doesn't look great, but it's nonessential for survival. The legs are in a state but not unsalvageable—the key is keeping them protected until they can get him to a care clinic who can provide him actual care.

"Is he going to be okay?" A little girl with pigtails steps forward, examining Bobo over his shoulder.

Lucas glances at her, then at the owner. Riley has somehow managed to calm him to a less hysterical state, and now he's watching him with the widest watery eyes Lucas thinks he's ever seen.

It's a lot of pressure to step into all at once. But animals are the one thing Lucas feels like he knows better than anything else. More than atlas facts and comfort foods and varied Beatles lyrics.

"He's breathing, but it's slow. What we need to do is get him to a clinic without damaging the paws any further. Can you get a towel? Something sturdy, like cardboard or a paper roll. Gauze is good too, if you have a first aid kit."

The kids disperse at once, taking his word as authority and diving into their houses to search. He glances over his shoulder at Farkle. He's back in the shadows, watching the situation with moderate interest.

"You got a phone?"

Farkle looks startled at being addressed. He nods, pulling it out of his pocket.

"Look up the nearest pet emergency clinic and call them. Let them know we're coming."

He ducks away to do so. The man steps forward again, raising a hand in surrender. "Again, I'm so sorry—,"

"Show it by doing something that helps. You're driving us there."

He nods sheepishly, backing off.

Lucas exhales, glancing down at his hands to find them trembling. He wills himself to pull it together before the kids get back with the splint materials. It's not anything he's never done before on the farm, but having shaky hands isn't going to help matters.

Riley gives him a smile when his gaze drifts to her, in the middle of comforting the pet owner. She's got her arm around him and is allowing him to hug her torso, and Lucas can't help but think he looks a little like her brother Auggie from the pictures. How she's probably thinking the same thing herself.

Even still, her eyes are on him. She tilts her head, nodding an encouragement without saying any words at all.

Somehow, it's exactly what he needs.

As the kids start to return with the tools, the little boy sniffles. "Is Bobo gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," Lucas says, willing the confidence in his voice to make the statement true. Allowing the pride in Riley's expression to transform into belief in himself. "He's gonna be fine."

* * *

"Zero hesitation," Riley exclaims. "You dove there in with no regard for your own safety. Just the well-being of that dog and Timmy."

Lucas rolls his eyes. "I wouldn't exactly call it a high stakes situation."

They're making their way back to the hatchback after forty-five additional minutes in the emergency vet clinic with Bobo and his owner, Timmy. Certainly not a planned detour by any means, but at the end of the day Lucas is relieved to know that the terrier is going to be okay. Tough recovery ahead, but repairable. That's all he can ask for.

And he helped make that happen. For a beautiful, rare moment, something he did actually mattered.

"Absolute heroics," Farkle proclaims, jumping on the bandwagon and showering him with praise. It would be flattering if he didn't find him so annoying. "Truly evident that you knew what you were doing. Handled the situation with enormous grace under pressure. How did you know how to make that splint already?"

"Practice," Lucas says plainly.

Riley fills in the blanks for him. "Lucas used to work on his grandfather's farm, especially with horses. He's very familiar with animal care."

Lucas knows it doesn't mean anything, but he can't ignore the tingle that starts in his palms when Riley talks so highly of him. As if they're good friends, as if she knows him better than anyone. The way she's smiling at him only exacerbates the effect.

"And it shows," Farkle concurs, nodding pointedly. He pushes his glasses back up his nose. "I have to ask, did you ever pursue veterinary medicine in college? I swear it's as if you're operating right out of a university textbook."

It's impressive, how their new passenger can hone in on exactly the wrong thing to say even when Riley is teeing him up to avoid such a mishap. She quickly interrupts, opening the driver's door and clearing her throat.

"Well, I don't know about you all, but after that prolonged intermission I am starving. Dinner, yes?"

Farkle opens his mouth to respond—as he always seems to be doing—when Riley's phone buzzes and stifles the conversation in the car. She glances at it in confusion before her face falls. She frowns as she yanks the device into her hand to make sure she's reading it right.

Lucas has never seen such a distressed look on her face before, regardless of however subtle it may be. It gives him secondhand anxiety just seeing it. "Is everything okay?"

"I have to take this," she mutters, scrambling to get out of the car. Farkle raises an eyebrow and glances in Lucas's direction, obviously attempting to gauge if this is normal behavior by the way he reacts.

Lucas resents being so casually observed, like he's in some kind of petri dish, but his worry for Riley far outweighs that. His concern that Riley is alright is far more powerful than any sort of anger his irritation could cultivate.

He leans forward over the median as Riley pushes open the door, lightly holding her arm to get her attention. Or offer her support. Maybe somewhere in the middle—he's not used to so intentionally touching people. "Riley."

"It's my mom." The vague explanation and a quick moment of eye contact are all she offers him before she slips out of the car and shuts the door behind her, frantically attempting to answer the call before it goes to voicemail.

Farkle watches her pace in front of the vehicle with continued interest. "This seems abnormal, doesn't it? Does her mother call often?"

Lucas shrugs, fiddling with a stray thread on the sleeve of his jacket. "I don't know."

"Hmm." Farkle pauses, and Lucas can practically hear the gears grinding in his head as he attempts to put the puzzle pieces together in way that makes sense to him. Overanalyzing it, like an algorithm rather than the actions of human beings. "Do you think she's in trouble?"

From the nervous expression on Riley's face, Lucas can't tell one way or the other. All he can think as he watches her begin to trek away from the car along the sidewalk, arms drawn in close and crossed over her chest as if in defense, is that maybe he doesn't know as much about her as he thinks he does. For as comfortable and familiar as he feels with her despite their short time together, maybe he truly is just scratching the surface of Riley Matthews.

All he knows for certain is that if she is in trouble, she doesn't deserve it. There's so much he's done that he's getting off easy for all things considered—almost rewarded, if he includes how wonderful things have been with her as of late. All of that karma should be heading right for him, not her. Certainly not her, the person who offered not one but two strangers a free ride with no expectation in return.

If anyone in this car—regardless of level of obnoxiousness—deserves crime and punishment, he knows without a doubt that the title belongs to him.

* * *

Acceptance of that fact of life in mind, being stuck alone with Farkle Minkus feels like just about the worst punishment the universe could inflict upon him.

It's not that Farkle is inherently a bad person. Even Lucas can admit that's true. He can also admit that part of his disdain stems from jealousy—envy towards his privilege, envy towards all the endless opportunities he's known his entire life, envy at the fact that he and Riley have so much to bond over and he has nothing but gas station whiskey and dine and dash schemes.

Ultimately, he knows that's what it comes down to. That Farkle Minkus has everything in the entire world at his fingertips, and he has absolutely nothing.

Although he likes to think he's doing an okay job of hiding his chagrin, it's clear that Farkle can tell he's not exactly fond of him. For the few minutes they're left alone he doesn't make much of an effort to break the silence, allowing Lucas to brood in silence and distracting himself with his smartphone in the backseat.

Despite how much he's wanted it since their third wheel showed up, the silence is too much to sit in and stew. Lucas climbs out of the car a few minutes later, opting for the fresh air and additional distance between them. A few miles down the road, Riley paces with her phone pressed to her ear.

Perched on the hood of the car, Lucas marvels over how casually Riley's mother calls in to check if she's alright. If everything is going according to plan. He can't even be too upset about it, considering he has his mother's number in his pocket and could call her right now if he wanted to. If he had the comfortability of Riley and her mother, maybe he would.

No one is calling to check up on him. He created that circumstance for himself, so there's no point in getting all worked up about it now.

The car door slams, and a few moments later Farkle wanders around to join him by the hood of the car. Lucas continues to ignore him as he leans against the side of the metal, checking another application on his phone. "Long conversation, huh?"

"Maybe." Lucas's tendency to be polite overpowers his desire to tell Farkle to leave him alone. "I'm not the one on the phone."

"Don't talk to your mother much?" Farkle doesn't wait for a response. He correctly assumes he won't get one. "I get that. Phone calls with my mother tend to be very brief. Just the way it is, I suppose."

Lucas seriously doubts he gets it at all. He doesn't offer anything else, resorting to chewing at his thumbnail and staring in the other direction.

"You and Riley have really only known each other for a few days?" Farkle asks after a couple minutes of silence, pocketing his phone. His attention is fully focused on Lucas, who adjusts awkwardly under the new scrutiny.

He chews the inside of his cheek. It's starting to become a habit. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing, personally. Just fascinating. I'm studying psychology as you know—at least, in part to aid my understanding of biology—and I've been doing a lot of observation of the dynamics between human beings. The ways we relate to one another, form bonds. All part of the thesis for the course."

Lucas wishes he could find an effective way to translate that he doesn't care, but Farkle barrels on regardless. For all the things he does have, the one thing he seems to lack is a sense of awareness.

"And the fact of the matter is from what I've observed, you and Riley do not act like people who just met one another. You're far too comfortable for that."

For some reason, Lucas finds himself feeling defensive. He shrugs, propping his elbows on his knees. "What are you trying to stay?"

"Nothing negative, believe me. It's simply interesting. The behavior between strangers is more typically distant, apprehensive, less intrinsic and harmonized. There's usually a natural hesitancy." Farkle examines him, raising his eyebrows. "Much like how you're reacting to me, truthfully."

Lucas knows it's a pointed critique of his cold demeanor. He scowls, not bothering to apologize.

"But it's not like that between you two. I don't know what it is. You two exhibit behaviors that indicate a familiarity, a deeper sense of trust—uncanny, honestly. I don't know if I'd trust some dusty stranger I met on the side of the road, although I am grateful for Riley's naivety in that regard."

Lucas tosses a glare in his direction. "Don't talk about her like that."

"Again, not saying anything negative." Farkle's gaze is so inquisitive, so visibly observational, that Lucas has to look away. "There's nothing inherently wrong with naivety. In some ways, it's incredibly charming. Riley's allowing me—both of us, really, if I understand correctly—into her car because it seems like the right thing to do. She's lucky that I'm—we're both, I assume—not intending to do her any harm. Naivety, it's a charm, but it can be a curse."

Lucas scowls, feeling anger build at the base of his spine. It strikes him the wrong way that Farkle can criticize her so openly, particularly when he's taking advantage of her hospitality that's purportedly so misguided.

"Riley is the best person I know."

"I don't dispute that," Farkle says calmly. "She's definitely something else. It's rare, finding a person who has that kind of optimism despite what they've been through or what's going on in their head."

Lucas gives him a look, not expecting such a thorough analysis of her after knowing her for so short a time. "What makes you say all that?"

"Please, it's written all over her." Farkle waves him off. "I don't know all the details, obviously. But the signs are all there. The way she's so giving. Quieter in larger spaces. Doesn't like to speak up against anyone or anything, but full of almost contradictory risk-taking. I don't know what she's got going on in her head, but there's something alright."

"You can't do that," Lucas snaps, shaking his head. "You can't just talk about people like you know them when you don't."

"It's not that hard. Once you know what you're looking for, reading people becomes pretty simple."

Lucas ignores him, shaking his head again. Farkle doesn't appreciate the silence.

"Like you. It's pretty easy to figure you out."

Lucas chews harder on his cheek.

"Drifter. No evident college education. Some sort of circumstance at home that prevented that."

He accidentally draws blood, stinging as he swallows.

"Running from something, I have to assume. What'd you do? Misdemeanor? Bar fight? Petty theft?"

"Are you aware that you're an asshole, or do you say things _just_ to be obnoxious?" Lucas barks, cracking and turning his glare on him. He can feel the anger in his chest now, making it a little harder to breathe.

Despite his volume, Farkle doesn't blink. He hesitates, contemplating the question. "Maybe. At least, that's what my mother says."

It's not the answer he's expecting. And having no backlash to build against makes the anger recede back into irritability. He picks at the skin on his palm, turning away.

"I have trouble with it. Understanding people." Farkle pauses, rethinking the words before he speaks again. His tone is less self-righteous than before. "I mean, I understand them and all. Reading them, that's straightforward. It's the… interacting piece that I don't comprehend so well. It's a big part of why my father funded this trip. Why my mother thinks I need help. Those pieces I just don't quite understand."

Although he's tap-dancing on his last nerve, Lucas has to appreciate the vulnerability. He knows how hard it is to be honest about your weaknesses.

"Bad relationship with your father?" Farkle probes, examining Lucas curiously. Back to observing, but his expression is less critical than usual. "Just suffered a loss?"

Lucas shoots him a hard glare, making the warning loud and clear with no words at all. He adds them anyway, but the phrase comes out weaker than he intends. Vulnerability softening the edges. "You don't know me."

"You're right," Farkle agrees. "Can't until you let me."

Lucas doubts he actually wants to get to know him with the limited time they have together, but the point he's making is clear enough. He's suddenly exhausted, thinking about all the secrets he's juggling to keep buried and all the layers he's constantly keeping in check. However obnoxious Farkle is, Lucas knows in some capacity he's right—the more he builds all these walls around himself, the harder it's going to be to ever build bridges. He's isolated, yes, but some of that is his own doing. And it's not going to change until he breaks that down.

Riley finally hangs up the phone, heading back in their direction. If anyone serves as a perfect example of someone who deserves to know him—really know him, considering all she's given up for him—it's definitely her.

Still, as she gets closer and offers them a smile, his resolve gets caught in his throat. As much as he'd like to let her know him, it's so much easier said than done.

* * *

It doesn't surprise Lucas that he can't sleep.

It's not because he's sleeping in an armchair again—he's slept in worse places and weirder angles and gotten plenty of rest. It's not because part of him is still thinking about that terrier and whether or not he's adjusting okay and if his splint was even any help in the long run.

No, it's entirely because there's another person in the hotel room with Riley, and it's not just him.

He knows Riley can take care of herself, and for all intents and purposes he seriously doubts Farkle has any ill intentions up his sleeve. He's insufferable, that's for sure, but he seems otherwise harmless. Considering how soundly he's sleeping, crashed out and nose lightly whistling from the other side of the room, Lucas doubts he's going to be any trouble.

Lucas has no clue why he's so on edge with him around. He can feel it all across his back, the same place the panic starts when it comes through. He tilts his head back against the chair, staring at the ceiling and unclenching his fists subconsciously.

He knows if he had to, he could take him. Not only because Farkle can't weigh more than one hundred and fifty pounds even with his height, but more so because Lucas can't think of the last time he met someone he couldn't take. Just another one of those pieces of himself he's trying to erase.

Stretching his hands out against his knees, it's weird to see them so clean. Aside from the torn bits of his nail buds where he tends to pick and the peeling Mickey Mouse band-aid slapped between his thumb and index finger, there's not much out of the ordinary. No dust in the lines of his skin and dirt under his fingernails like the side of the road. No bruises on his knuckles and blood on his palms like the strip.

It's nice and all, but it's a little disorienting. It kind of feels like he's looking at hands that don't belong to him. Like he's on the outside looking in.

Lucas glances up from his knees to the other end of the room where Riley is sleeping. She's so trusting, he realizes, not allowing just one strange man but two to share a space with her. Two men she knows nothing about. One who has all the means to get violent if necessary, and has in the past when the situation arose.

Naivety. That was Farkle's word. Not anything inherently negative, but not implying much good about either of them as hitchhikers either.

She's trusting him, and she doesn't even know him. Not really. That's what really irks him about Farkle's presence—the way he acts as a constant reminder that the world that he and Riley created is not reality. The way she seems him isn't authentic. No matter how badly he wishes it could be or convinces himself he can change. No matter how badly he tries to erase the past.

No matter how far he gets from the Sundance strip, he's always going to be that person.

He decides he needs some air, tossing his jacket off his legs and heading out the door.

Lucas closes the door gently behind him and marches aimlessly down the outdoor hallway, coming to a stop at the wooden stairs down to the parking lot. He closes his eyes, exhaling harshly and forcing himself to inhale again. Grounding himself before the tension in his neck transforms to panic.

He can't afford another freak out that leads him to running down the road and towards the darkness. Not when Riley's alone with a stranger.

Weird to remind himself that he's just as much a stranger. He settles down on the steps and sighs, rubbing his face before squinting at the twinkling lights of traffic on the highway in the distance.

"Nice night," Riley's familiar voice makes him jump. He glances over his shoulder as she approaches from where he came from moments earlier. She offers him a smile and perches on the step next to him, wrapping her arms around her knees.

Lucas shrugs. "It's okay."

"Couldn't sleep?" she inquires, playing with a thread on the hem of her leggings by her ankle. After a moment, she frowns. "I don't see how you could, sleeping in that chair. And for the second night in a row. I'm really sorry about that."

"It's fine." At the disbelieving expression she tosses his way, he nods emphatically. "I mean it. Like I've said, I've slept in stranger settings, believe me. This is nothing."

She narrows her eyes at him, obviously scanning his statement for truth. When she can't find any plausible objections for her to make she releases a sigh. "Fine, sure. Still wish you didn't have to, though. I'm sorry that it shook out this way."

"Like I said, it's nothing." He examines her, tilting his head slightly. "Doesn't explain why you're awake though."

"Same as you," she says with a shrug, keeping her eyes down on her feet. "Couldn't really sleep. And you getting up sort of woke me up."

Lucas swallows his guilt. "Sorry."

"Oh, please," she mutters, waving him off. There's a few moments of silence, Riley gazing out towards the road and Lucas wishing he could stop gazing at her. Her voice is softer when she speaks again. "Kind of worried you weren't going to be out here. Worried maybe you'd left."

He raises his eyebrows at her. "Think I would?"

"I don't know. Not particularly, not without saying goodbye. And definitely not without your jacket."

Lucas rolls his eyes, earning a smile from her.

"I know Farkle is… a lot to handle. He's certainly a unique personality, that much is true." Lucas snorts. She adjusts to face him a bit more, cocking her head. "But it felt wrong not to help him. His request really was small, and I was already giving someone else a ride after all. What's one more person for a little while longer?"

Although her explanation makes complete sense, Lucas can't help but sting a bit. Because while Riley is right, merely extending the same courtesy to Farkle that she extended to him that allowed him to get this far and see this much and get to know her this well, that's exactly the reminder he doesn't want to think about.

That in reality, in this universe, all this trip really means to either of them is an extension of courtesy.

She's humoring him, getting him somewhere different and doing so with a smile on her face. But that's all there is to it. All things considered, he's just another passenger in her car. Her greatest charity case.

"But I didn't even think to check with you first," she continues, breaking him out of his thoughts. "I said yes and I didn't ask if it was okay with you. You were shy enough with me when we first left the strip, I should've figured introducing a new stranger into our environment wouldn't be on the top of your most wanted list. I'm sorry about that."

He hates how easily she can win him over. How sincere she is, and how that makes being upset with her or pulling back from her downright impossible.

"It's okay. Seriously. It's your car, after all. Who would I be to criticize your decision when it's the only reason I'm here?"

She examines him for a long moment, eventually shrugging. He forces himself to look away from her gaze, taking his turn to stare out at the highway in the distance.

"You were amazing today," she says softly. He can still feel her eyes on him.

"When? When I had to spend more than five minutes alone with Farkle and didn't run him over with the car? Yeah, gotta admit, didn't think I had it in me."

Riley laughs—a genuine, full laugh that Lucas feels honored to have caused—before shaking her head. "No. I meant with the dog."

"Oh. Well, it wasn't a big deal."

"Are you kidding me? I don't know if you noticed, but I was freaking out." She laughs incredulously as he waves her off again, lightly slapping his hand down in response. "Like, that dog was hurt and that child was in hysterics and to be honest I was about to be too if you hadn't swooped in and figured everything out. You were so calm and collected, and that helped the situation more than anything else."

He pauses, contemplating her words. Despite the fact that he definitely didn't feel like an authority on the situation at the time, it's nice to know he came across as knowledgeable. "I was just pulling from experiences I'd had with animals before. Back home, and stuff."

"Well, it worked. You completely changed the course of that dog's life." She sighs, shuddering slightly as a thought hits her. "I don't want to think about what would've happened if you hadn't been there. Where that little dog would be now."

"Coincidence," he says distantly. He wonders if Riley also thinks like Farkle, that everything that happens around them is just happenstance and algorithms that can be parsed out like an equation. All randomness. "Life is just a bunch of coincidences. Agree or disagree?"

She gazes at him interestedly, biting her lip as she hums thoughtfully. "Disagree."

"Huh," he mutters, unable to help the smile that ghosts over his features. "Me too."

"Wait, seriously?"

He straightens up, giving her a look. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"You, Lucas… Arthur Finn Friar—,"

Lucas breaks into laughter, propping his elbows on his knees and dipping his head down against his arms. "That's what you think my full name is?"

She fights to continue her sentiment through her giggles. "You, drifter extraordinaire, don't believe in coincidence. You believe in fate?"

"Look, I'm just saying I don't think it's as simple as coincidence." He lifts his hands in surrender, still smiling lightly at her remaining chuckles. "I think the universe, you know, it has its way of pointing us in the direction we're supposed to go. Whether we take it or not is up to us, but not everything is up to chaos and randomness. I think coincidence, or whatever you want to call it, is the universe's way of telling us something."

Riley's quiet, eyes lingering on him. He makes eye contact with her and she smiles. "Agree. I always thought of it like… it's like the universe's way of saying hi."

Lucas hesitates, smirking and tilting his head. "Hey."

She breaks into a grin and nudges her elbow into his ribs, stretching out her leg and draping her arms over her other knee. They sit in content silence for a few moments, and Lucas finds himself glad that she followed him out. When she's here with him, it doesn't so much feel like a sleepless night. It feels timeless.

"James, by the way."

She lifts her head. "What?"

"My middle name," he murmurs. He watches her eyes light up with this new information. "It's James."

She maintains eye contact with him, hesitating before trying it out for herself. "Lucas James?"

There's always been a part of him that's resented his name. Considering he shares the same middle name as his father, it's always kind of felt like another part of Kenneth that he could never escape from. James, to indicate that he was going to end up just like him, and Friar to seal the deal that he would always be owned by him. Regardless of whether he was actually there or not.

But when Riley says it—the way it sounds coming from her lips and in her soft tone, he suddenly doesn't mind it so much. He wants to hear it again. He wants to hear her say it again and again.

"Lucas James," she says more confidently. When he nods timidly she breaks into a grin, bouncing excitedly and scooting closer to him. "Lucas James Friar."

Her smile is infectious. He licks his lips, nodding again and locking eyes with her. "Yeah."

He doesn't know how they got so close, how she ended up in such close proximity when they definitely weren't that way when she sat down. He can see the couple of stray freckles on her nose and her eyes are particularly sparkling in the lamplight, as deep brown as ever and reflecting the lights of the highway behind them. Miles and miles of the universe exist in those eyes.

If he's being honest with himself, he knows he could stare into them forever.

It's a lot like the night before, with the stars above them and the limited space between them and the feeling that he's on the edge of something brilliant, like the entire world would open up before him and he'd solve all the mysteries of the universe if he just trusted himself to act on whatever decision he makes. It seems like the universe is sending him many messages, giving him ample opportunities to take the chance for himself and see what happens.

He always hesitates. He always stops himself because what matters most to him now, more than anything else, is that Riley is comfortable. That she's content. That whatever decisions he makes, she'll be happier for it. And him trying to kiss her again when he barely deserved the first one and he doesn't know what he's doing and he's just a charity case does not seem to be one of those decisions.

But then, she keeps drifting closer. The air between them keeps getting thinner. Riley's eyes drift down to glance at his lips—unmistakably so—and he has to wonder if maybe he's wrong.

"Oh, there you guys are," someone comments and Lucas jumps, blinking off the daze and trying to stop his heart from pounding, now for more reasons than one. Glancing over his shoulder, he scowls as Farkle wanders over towards them.

Riley peers up at him. "What are you doing up?"

"Could ask you all the same thing," he says cordially, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Just woke up for a glass of water and noticed you guys weren't there. Wondered if maybe you'd run off without me."

Boy, if only. Lucas rolls his eyes.

"No, no. We were just heading back in," Riley says diplomatically, getting to her feet. "Go on, we'll meet you."

Farkle nods, saluting her and ambling back towards their room. Lucas chews the inside of his cheek and taps his fingers against his knee, trying hard not to be embittered by the pattern that's arisen between the three of them. The consistent reminder that he, like Farkle, is just another guest receiving Riley's generosity.

"You coming?" she asks him, turning around when she realizes he's not following her.

"Uh, yeah, in a bit." He scratches his ear, only half-looking at her. "Just need a little more air."

She nods in understanding. "Okay."

He listens to her footsteps pad away, picking at one of his damaged nail buds. When he doesn't hear the door open, he glances over his shoulder.

Riley's hanging by the door, watching him from the short distance between them. She blinks when they make eye contact again and her face melts into a smile, seemingly effortless despite the late hour and the not-so-pleasant company.

"Goodnight, Lucas James Friar," she whispers.

His heart continues to pound. Funny, how she can make his anger disappear with one smile. "Goodnight."

She gives him one more smirk before stepping into the room, shutting the door behind her. Lucas turns back to face the parking lot, a stupid grin spreading across his face in spite of the fact that he's once again alone.

With the memory of her presence beside him, he supposes, it doesn't really feel like he is.


	7. storm chasers ( riley )

The longer Riley spends on the endless road from one coast to the other, the more she realizes how unprepared she was for anything she would encounter on her cross country endeavor. She severely underestimated the amount of fatigue constant travel causes, although it doesn't help matters that she's relatively fatigued to begin with. She could never have anticipated Lucas Friar, who has admittedly done wonders for her exhaustion but instead consumes her full attention with how determined she is to figure him out. She definitely did not expect to make a friend in the middle of nowhere, let alone end up feeling closer to him in the span of a week than she does many of the people who have populated her world her entire life.

Above all else, however, what she truly could not have prepared for is Farkle Minkus.

It's not that he's an unbearable car companion. In fact, he's quite the contrary, as he's well-groomed, pointedly fastidious, and certainly likes to keep conversation going with his seemingly infinite list of fun facts. He completely covers his own expenses, even going so far as to slip her some cash to cover Lucas's charges when they're both sure he isn't paying attention. For as quirky as the beanpole is, there's an obvious appreciation for charity within him, and Riley has to respect such an innate sense of compassion.

But simply calling him quirky almost feels like an understatement. Riley knows she's far from all right in the head, but Farkle's unique brand of eccentricities makes her feel dull in comparison. He claims the only weak link in his knowledge base is how to "interface," and she has to admit his behavior makes that all too apparent.

For how much he likes to chatter, he doesn't seem to have much of a perception of whether anyone is listening or not. For how greatly he enjoys a back and forth he doesn't seem to grasp the cadences of when another person may intend to interject, often barreling right on with his point or making the slightly obnoxious gesture of holding up a finger to silence his conversation partner until he's finished his thought. While Riley is used to dealing with overbearing personalities and hardly getting a word in edgewise, she can definitely see where other people would take issue with him.

It's most visible between Farkle and her original hitchhiker. Lucas has been soft-spoken as long as Riley's known him, but ever since she let Farkle join the trip he's practically gone silent. When the two of them do start a dialogue, it never lasts long and usually concludes with a couple of digs and Lucas withdrawing entirely—whether Farkle realizes it or not.

The one time Farkle used the finger raise on Lucas, Riley thought she might have to cart the former on a detour to the hospital. Nothing happened, but she could see the urge to break that pointed finger flash through Lucas's eyes before he made the smart decision and turned away instead. Farkle kept on chatting regardless, so she's certain he didn't pick up on it.

Riley's been curious about Lucas and his reluctance to convey his emotions, especially given how practiced and probable he is to label every single inconvenience he's had to face as "fine." She hasn't missed the couple of times he's snapped at her before immediately retreating into himself, or the way he avoids eye contact when they broach a topic that seems too dangerous to confront—his old friends, whatever happened to his college plans, the napkin with his mother's number whom he never seems to mention.

Of course, it's his business. She doesn't plan to push him on anything considering how briefly they've been traveling together and how she doesn't want to risk doing anything that may push him out of her car altogether. But she can't help but wonder about what's going on behind those green eyes, how much effort he's putting into remaining consistently pleasant and unobjectionable. Because no one is that perfect, no matter how hard they try. Because she's been there, and she knows how deep those feelings can get buried. How much of yourself they take with them and the holes they leave behind.

Still, she promised Farkle a ride the same way she did him, and she's not going to break her good word. She just hopes that she can get both of them to the airport without having to call roadside emergency for any reason.

"Absolutely heinous, don't you think?" Farkle says as they wait at the front desk to check out. He's scrolling through the news on his phone, lingering on a headline before tilting the device for her to see.

Riley takes a moment to absorb the news bulletin, squinting to read the small print. There's a somewhat grainy mugshot of a young man, no older than his mid-twenties, followed by a muted video of a roadway chase occurring on the major highway a couple states away. An immediate feeling of dread shoots through her, until she takes a few more seconds to read deeper into the article.

"It says he stole a couple of electronics from a Radio Shack," she reads aloud, brow crinkling. "He wasn't even armed."

Farkle pulls his phone back, continuing to skim through the story. "What's your point?"

"I don't know. Doesn't the big spectacle of a car chase over a couple gaming consoles seem a bit overkill?"

"He committed a crime, Riley," Farkle states. She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes at the hint of condescension that creeps into his tone. "I'm not saying there aren't nuances to the situation, I'm sure there are. But if you choose to do a crime, then you should do the time. Running from them certainly isn't going to do anyone a whole load of good."

"And the glorified cat and mouse game they're televising?"

Farkle shrugs, pocketing his phone. "Well, everyone loves a heroic cop story. Especially down here in the South. Slow news day, gotta put something on the screen." He allows the conversation to derail as the desk attendant returns to collect their keys. "Lovely, perfect timing."

When Riley pulls out her wallet Farkle proceeds to refute her intent to pay, offering to pick up the bill on behalf of how generous she's been over the last day. Although it's a kind gesture and she feels foolish to refuse it, there is a small bit of pride that stings as she slips her wallet back into her pocket. She supposes this is how Lucas must feel every time she finds way to pick up the check, regardless of how genuine her intent is.

It's this sudden sense of understanding that reminds her how absent he's seemed to be this morning. She spins on her heel and scans the lobby for the familiar jean jacket, feeling her heart rate ease in her chest when she spots him over by the window looking out towards the parking lot. It's an oddly intense amount of relief, how she feels when she confirms he's still there. That he hasn't disappeared in the night without so much as a goodbye.

She has no idea why such a concrete fear has formed in her mind around the concept. It's inexplicable, like everything else about him. Much like the increasing gravity that seems to exist between them, always gently pulling her back in his direction.

She leaves Farkle by the counter and wanders over to join him, unable to keep the smile off her face as she comes to his side.

"Really captivating view," she says cheekily, stuffing her hands in her back pockets. "I mean, that rusted car on the curb, I could look at that for eons."

He doesn't dignify the comment with a look, but she can see the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Listen, you spend enough time on the road, you learn to make any view entertaining for hours at a time. Comes in handy for all those stretches of nothing between cities."

"Or when you're desperately avoiding having to interact with someone."

Lucas finally locks eyes with her, tossing her a glare before flitting his gaze over her shoulder to confirm that their third wheel is still a safe distance out of ear shot. Persistently polite, even when his dislike is so obvious it's painful.

It's a charming amount of politeness. Riley's smile widens. "Oh, so sorry. I meant _interfacing_."

This earns an eye roll. She tries her luck and lightly elbows him in the back, a teasing move that pays off when he scoffs and bumps her shoulder in response. She can't help but giggle, chewing her lip and trying to hold back her grin. The playful expression he gives her sends a weird tingle down her arms, her stomach twisting in a way she only notices because it's been ages since she's felt it.

She doesn't get time to ponder the sensation. Farkle approaches from behind, Lucas spotting him first and automatically clamming up.

"We're all set to go. Pretty staggering, these hotel fees these days, huh? It's like they're robbing us blind." Farkle blows some air between his lips, shrugging and offering a lopsided smile. "Bankruptcy here we come, right?"

Riley doesn't have to look at Lucas to visualize the disdain on his face.

"And here we go," Riley chirps, gently nudging Farkle towards the door as fast as possible and hoping that Lucas follows suit.

* * *

Although she's geared up for a long drive to Charleston, about an hour into their miles for the day Farkle surprises her with a reveal of his own.

"I actually switched around some of the travel details for my flight," he says as they're discussing their route. She catches Lucas shift in the backseat and feels her own posture stiffen, dreading whatever he might possibly say next. If he declares he's decided to stay forever, she's not sure she trusts herself not to run off the road out of shock. "I was able to swap my departure from Charleston to Augusta Regional, which is only another hour or so out. I just felt like such a burden making you drive all the way out there when I know it wasn't on your original itinerary. This detour is at least a little more within your current trajectory."

Riley has to concentrate to make sure her exhale is not pointedly pleased. Considering the scenarios running through her head, this information feels like a tiny gift from above.

"Well, that's considerate."

"Definitely cost me enough too," Farkle states, scoffing and slouching back in his seat. His long legs are angled to fit within the confines of the cramped seat, and Riley finds herself a bit perturbed at how strange it feels to have someone else other than Lucas in the passenger seat. "But what's a couple hundred dollars to break even? It's the least I could do."

"It really hasn't been a problem," Riley assures him.

"So, you're leaving soon, then?" Lucas pipes up.

Farkle swivels around to focus on him, smiling genially. "Oh, well, the flight still doesn't depart for a few hours and we've got plenty of time. But at least the driving time should be noticeably diminished."

Lucas visibly deflates.

"However, I do believe I have a sight all of us would enjoy spending the remainder of the day to see." Farkle shares a conspiratorial glance with Riley, giving her a smirk. "Even our grumpy chum in the back there."

Said grumpy chum's tone is humorously flat. "Oh, you think so, huh?"

Farkle is back on his phone, pulling up a website in his browser. "The Oconee National Forests. It's a mere hour out of the way but still en route. Based on my observation of your interests these past twenty-four hours, I'm willing to hypothesize there's guaranteed to be scenery I'm sure all three of us will enjoy."

Riley does find the idea intriguing. There were plenty of forests in California while she was at college, but she was never exactly in the mindset to want to be adventurous. Just another one of those things she missed out on, brought down by her own questionable decisions.

Also, she has to admit Farkle is right—getting to look at wildlife for a couple hours sounds exactly like something Lucas would be interested in. She glances at him through the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow. "What do you say?"

Even though he's working hard to keep up his impenetrable Farkle façade, she can recognize the twinkle in his eye that confirms his interest. It's the same one he had when they walked onto Alabama State campus, or when she suggested they go bowling. Subtle enough that she's certain Farkle can't see it—not that he is adept at noticing _anything_ about human social cues—but it feels glaringly clear to her.

Maybe she's done a fair amount of observing too.

"I'm just along for the ride," Lucas finally says, successfully finding the least affirmative way to agree to something while maintaining a sense of decorum.

Farkle hoots and sets to typing the address into the map application, but Riley lets her gaze linger in the rearview a little longer than necessary in the hopes of catching Lucas's attention. They lock eyes for a second and for the briefest of moments, his shield melts away and grants her a small smile.

It's gone the instant Farkle speaks again. He docks his phone in the cup holder so Riley can see the directions, launching into a lecture. "It'll be quite the spectacle. To begin, the amount of species they have on display is noteworthy. I mean, just dissecting the presence of the different members of the family _Sciuridae_ …"

Lucas crosses his eyes and leans back against the headrest with a pointed _thud_. Farkle barrels on, Riley pressing her lips into a line in the meager hopes of holding back her laughter.

She has to think the three of them are spectacle enough all their own.

* * *

The park is just as intriguing as Farkle promised it would be, easily occupying their attention for the better part of an hour. Riley can't help but think about how Lucas told her that nature can only be so interesting when you've seen it so many times, yet he's more than happy to trail along and try to catch sight of a critter or two while Farkle rattles on about all of the different flora with so many specific definitions and statistics she's starting to wonder if he's really a human or potentially a droid.

All goes well until Farkle suggests they grab their devices from the car to take photos before starting on one last trail, digging through his suitcase in the trunk and pulling out a rather nice Canon camera. It has to be the latest model, impressively sleek and full of switches and buttons Riley has no idea how to use.

"Fancy," she quips, reaching under the passenger seat to retrieve hers from its hiding spot.

Farkle lifts his gaze and gives her a smile, holding it out for her to get a better look. "Well, I wouldn't say you're too far behind. That's a pretty decent model. You into photography?"

"My uncle was into it and lent me a lot of his cameras when I was growing up," she explains. She twiddles with the shoulder strap, smiling at the memory of her uncle Shawn. "So I'd say it's more of a hobby than anything serious."

It's odd to think about Shawn, considering how long it's been since she's seen him. The last time was her graduation party more than four years ago, and although they exchanged calls early in her freshman year and the sporadic email here and there, she can honestly say she's lost track of where he would even be. He was always an explorer—to her father's chagrin—content to travel and wander aimlessly rather than settle down to do something sensible.

She realizes maybe she's far more like him than her parents. Not that they're thrilled about it.

"A hobby is the gateway to a fulfilling career," Farkle muses wisely, pushing his glasses up his nose. He shuts the trunk of the car, placing his hands on his hips. "Well, are we all set to go?"

Riley casts a glance towards Lucas, notably silent throughout this exchange. His glare is focused on the elite camera in Farkle's hands, brow furrowed. She finds herself thinking he's not unlike Uncle Shawn either, that it might be a fascinating experiment to put the both of them in a room together and see what happens.

When he catches her looking at him, he looks away.

"I don't think I'm going to come," Lucas says, keeping his gaze on the parking lot around them rather than having to meet her eyes. "Just going to hang back and see if I can spot another one of those wild turkeys."

Farkle frowns. "Well that seems silly—,"

"Are you sure?" Riley interrupts, figuring she'll have far more success at this negotiation than him. "You'll probably find more interesting stuff on this trail."

"And you're going to miss all of the photographs. It won't be documented, it'll be like you were never even here."

Riley decides it's not worth pointing out to Farkle that such a concern is irrelevant to Lucas, the guy who once told her he was a cryptid. He offers his own counterpoint instead, shrugging and crossing his arms. "I don't have a camera, so."

"That's not true," she debates. She's trying to keep her tone playful, but she can tell something about the situation is genuinely off and she doesn't like the feeling of it. Everything with Lucas has been remarkably easy—she doesn't want that to change any time soon. "What about the camera we got in Nashville?"

"You got a camera? On this trip?" Farkle raises his eyebrows. "Bold choice."

Lucas rolls his eyes, opening the car door and pulling up his backpack. He digs through the front pocket until he retrieves the disposable camera she got him, holding it up as if to make a point. His cheeks are flushed, but Riley can't tell if it's from the heat or some odd sort of embarrassment.

"No way," Farkle remarks, a grin creeping across his features. It's not malicious by any means, but she can already see Lucas growing more defensive. "Is that a disposable camera? Like, Kodak brand with the wheel to change the film? I haven't seen one of those in ages. I didn't realize they still made them."

"Well, congratulations. Now you have."

"It won't be as fun without you," Riley says, redirecting the conversation back to the point. She waits for him to meet her eyes, searching them for answers despite how little they've tended to give out in the past. "You're just going to stay here alone?"

Lucas hesitates, holding her gaze. It looks like there are dozens of things he wants to tell her, lots of explanations he'd like to give, but for whatever reason he doesn't say them.

"I'm fine on my own."

Riley isn't sure why the statement stings so much. For all the progress she's made with him the past few days, the connection she thought they were building together, it seems like a step in the wrong direction.

"Well, if you're not going to use the disposable, do you mind if I bring it?" Farkle asks. "I'd love to give the old-fashioned cinematography a shot."

"Knock yourself out," Lucas says shortly, tossing it in his direction. Farkle barely manages to catch it in his bony hands, sending his far more expensive camera crashing against his chest thanks to the save of the shoulder strap.

Riley pushes some hair behind her ear, uncertain how to remedy the situation. For now, it seems like the best thing she can do is exactly what he's telling her—give him space. "I guess we'll meet back here in a bit, then."

Lucas nods, not waiting for them to head out before starting off in the opposite direction. Riley watches him go, seemingly so comfortable with going it alone. Fighting the small anxiety that seems to be taking up permanent residence in her stomach.

The anxiety that every time she watches him walk away, it'll be the last time.

* * *

Despite her reluctance to leave Lucas behind, the photography enterprise with Farkle turns out to be surprisingly enjoyable. It seem the trick with her newest car companion is the less company the better, as he's far less insufferable when they hang out one-on-one. There's less people to impress, she supposes, so he's allowed to be a little more human.

It's also nice to be spending time with her camera again. She'd used it a lot during the first part of her trip, when she was alone and facing every new destination by herself. Like most things in the past couple of years, she's realizing she's warped her relationship with the hobby to create something that it actually isn't. Like if she took enough pictures of the scenery and side of the road as she traveled, it would make up for the fact that she was doing all of the journeying on her own.

The truth of this habit is pretty clear, considering she hadn't touched it since the Sundance strip.

That afternoon, wandering with Farkle and zeroing in on the wilderness for the perfect shot, when she takes a photo that's all it is. A photograph, capturing one moment of beauty with no other expectations. There's something decidedly freeing about that.

"Riley," Farkle says, snapping a photo with the disposable. He takes the moment to roll the film, waiting for her to rise back to her feet from taking a shot at a crouch. "Could I ask you a question?"

She offers a smile, shrugging as she scans the trail for something else to capture. "Think I'd be offended if you didn't."

"It's about Lucas. You've been spending a fair amount of time with him on your trip so far, yes?"

Riley hesitates, not certain where this conversation is going to go. "Yes. Why?"

"I was simply wondering if you knew what happened to him."

She hesitates, turning to face him. He catches up to match her stride, the two of them walking side by side as they continue down the tree-covered path. "What do you mean?"

"Certainly you can tell he's hiding something," Farkle states, as if it's obvious. At the hesitant expression on her face, he quickly elaborates. "I don't mean anything nefarious. I mean, I don't know for sure, but that's not the kind of secret I'm referring to. His behavior, in general, it's just… you haven't talked about his past? At all?"

Riley finds herself resenting the question. It feels like a jab, considering how much she'd like to know about Lucas that she hasn't been able to coax out of him. It's almost like a reminder of her personal failings, how despite the way she feels like they're connecting she can't seem to make any significant headway.

She knows about The Beatles, comfort food, his strange obsession with state trivia—all things that feel frustratingly surface level. She knows that he never made it to university, a truth revealed in a particularly vulnerable and admittedly alcohol-induced moment that she hasn't been able to recreate since. She knows that the girls on the Strip didn't seem to realize what they had given his purported lack of relationship experience and that for whatever reason, or maybe many reasons, he doesn't ever, ever want to go back. That he'd rather disappear into the dust on the side of the road than return to the place he called home for a majority of his life.

Lots of puzzle pieces to the tableau that make up his life, but none that fit together. Not enough to craft a full picture, to make her feel like she understands him as deeply as she wants to.

"Here and there," she says vaguely, not wanting to share anything that isn't hers to share. "It's not for lack of trying, but I think he's just… a very private person."

"Believe me, I can tell. It's like talking to a brick wall. You seemed like the only person who would be able to get more out of him, but if even you're coming up empty than perhaps the situation is more hopeless than I hypothesized."

Riley twists the lens of her camera absentmindedly. She examines him, attempting to keep her unease from shifting into panic. "What do you think happened?"

"Like I said, I don't know for certain. It would be foolish of me to make theories without having as much context as possible." Farkle gazes ahead of them as they walk, clearly giving the scenario a lot of thought. Considering how intense he's been in every sense of the word since she met him, she's surprised by the layer of softness he's seemed to adopt. "But when someone is that closed off, that reluctant to share details about their personal life—well, it's practically a textbook indication of something deeper. The kind of stuff it would do him some good to get out in the open, regardless of how desperately he's working to bury it."

Although it's uncomfortable to hear someone else say it, she knows Farkle is right. She can't pretend she hasn't noticed his odd behavior, the way he reacts to physical touch or how dodgy he is about details of his personal history. She thinks about that napkin he carries around with a phone number he won't ever seem to call, the moments where he glances over his shoulder as if he's being watched even though no one else is around.

She also recognizes it, because she's exhibited it herself in the past. For different reasons, she's positive, but she knows that the reason for such behavior is never good.

Riley chews her lip. "What do you think I should do about it?"

"Oh, you don't have to do anything," Farkle assures her. He tilts his head at her, adjusting his glasses. "You're just giving him a ride, correct? If that's the case, you certainly don't owe him anything. The most you can do is get him wherever he needs to go and leave it at that."

Objectively, yes, she's simply giving him a ride. But there's a part of her that disputes that, the same part of her that handed over her keys to a stranger in the first place and thought giving a kissing lesson was a good idea.

In her heart, he's more than just a passenger and growing to be more and more by the hour. That truth is becoming increasingly difficult to deny.

"I only brought it up because as far as I can tell, you're one of the only people he feels comfortable with. If not the only person, considering he doesn't seem to have many other personal contacts." Farkle fidgets with the viewfinder on his camera as something to do with his hands. "He trusts you. That's clearer to me than anything else. I simply thought if anyone could figure out a way to get him to open up, it would be you."

The statement does help assuage some of the discomfort for how they left things earlier. Riley smiles to herself. "It's sweet of you to be concerned. I'm sure if he wasn't so closed off, he'd appreciate it."

"Yes, well, I highly doubt that," Farkle snorts. "I've tried just about every method of trying to break the ice, and nothing seems to be working. In fact, if anything, I think he only grows to hate me more. I mean, what does he want me to do? Cease speaking entirely?"

If she's being honest, Riley thinks that's probably exactly what Lucas would prefer. Not that he'd ever say it to his face.

"If you're looking for advice, I might suggest toning down the lectures," Riley says lightly, hoping to shed some of the seriousness still looming over them from the previous topic. "Don't get me wrong, it's interesting stuff. I just… if you want to win over someone who isn't much interested in talking, it might do you some good to consider the quiet. Not having to fill the space so much."

Farkle absorbs this, blinking. "I hadn't thought about it that way. I suppose I've always felt that if you weren't speaking up, weren't putting in your two cents, then it was inevitable that you were going to be overlooked. If you want people to be interested in you, you have to show them all that you have to offer."

"Maybe at a magnet school like Einstein where everyone is a genius," Riley concedes. "But here, in the real world, you don't have to sell yourself all the time. Trust me, it took me some time to learn that lesson too."

Farkle makes a face, as if the possibility seems unlikely. But then he nods, accepting the change in perspective for what it is. Allowing it to teach him something new.

"Maybe you can find room for that in your thesis," Riley jokes, lightly nudging his arm.

Farkle laughs. "Oh, don't you worry. You and Lucas have given me plenty to dissect."

* * *

When the two of them make it back to the lot, it's a bit unnerving to discover Lucas still hasn't returned. She doesn't see where he could've gone unless he left the forest entirely, and that terrifying possibility rears its ugly head again when a full scan of their surroundings doesn't reveal him.

Still, she tries to give him the benefit of the doubt. He didn't seem to confirm her concerns the previous night when she expressed them, so she has to believe he didn't just get up and walk away. He'll be back soon.

Farkle senses her trepidation. "We could check the car?"

Somehow, Riley feels as though ignorance is better in this situation. She'd rather let herself believe everything is going to be okay than have to face the stinging reality of his backpack not being in the backseat. At least, either way, he didn't steal the car.

"Let's check out the water," she suggests instead, pointing to the small duck pond tucked away by the visitor center. It's as picturesque as anything else, and a more than conveniently placed distraction.

Farkle doesn't complain, allowing her to lead the way towards the center. They mill around snapping pictures of the lily pads and stray duck or two floating along the water. She refuses to let herself check over her shoulder.

Riley can't help but notice how contradictory an animal ducks are, seemingly so content and lazily drifting. Yet underneath the water their webbed feet are working overtime to keep them afloat, operating in constant frantic motion to keep going. Honestly, she feels like she knows the feeling.

"Now there's a rare sighting," Farkle says playfully, tapping Riley on the shoulder. She whips around, following his gaze back towards the parking lot.

Lucas has returned, perched on the Dave's hood with his elbows resting on his knees. When he notices them looking he lets his gaze drift away, as if he was never looking in their direction at all.

At first, the only emotion Riley feels is relief. Undue amounts of relief, like he's her favorite puppy who ran out of the house and got lost but finally made it back home. Then she's confused again, wondering why he's waiting all the way over there when he should've just come over to join them.

She prefers it when he's with her. She doesn't see what's so hard to understand about that.

The shutter on the disposable clicks, Farkle lowering the camera from his face. "That'll be a majestic one, I'm sure. At least you'll get one photo of him before all is said and done." He sighs, glancing at Riley. "Should we wave him over?"

"I'll go talk to him," she says, giving Farkle a smile before beginning the trek up the slight hill towards the lot.

He's doing a good job of acting like he doesn't notice her approaching, allowing his focus to be occupied by the other visitors migrating through the parking lot. Riley comes to stop by the side of the hood, joining him in observing the small family heading home after a busy morning of enjoying nature.

The mother kneels down to help tie the shoe of the youngest boy, reaching out to take his hand and lead him towards the car once he's all set to go. The two of them make the journey hand-in-hand, the mother breaking into laughter as the boy's chubby little legs propel them a little faster across the asphalt.

Riley can remember what it was like to be that small, but it feels foggy and disconnected from the rest of her. Like it's a memory that doesn't belong to her, and she's not sure when that recognition faded into disrepair.

"You know, I know you're bonding with Dave and everything in a misguided attempt to be his favorite," Riley teases, pressing her fingertips into the metal. Lucas jumps, turning away from the family and their minivan to meet her eyes. "But you're missing an awful lot of fun with the ducks."

Lucas's gaze leaves hers again, dropping down to his hands. They're fidgety, fingers picking at a hangnail on his thumb. "I didn't want to disrupt you guys. Looked like you were having fun."

"You're not a disruption." When he nods, she can tell he's not actually buying into it. She leans forward, trying to ease her way back into his line of vision where he can't hide from her. "Come on, I really think you should try using the camera. Who knows, you might discover a special talent you don't even realize you have."

He hesitates, tilting his head at her. "I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"Well," Riley says in her most chipper tone, allowing herself to lean closer in an effort to emphasize her point. She hasn't gotten this close to him since the last time she decided to offer him a lesson, and it's a bit disarming to revisit that proximity. She glances down at his lips, locking eyes with him again and unable to hold back a smile. "Lucky for you, I'm a really good teacher."

She can see him considering it. Even if she's having limited luck in the history department, at least she feels like she's becoming more skilled at reading him. When he's working so hard to avoid using his words, she figures she'll rely on his expression to give him away.

She rolls back on her heels, holding out her hand and raising her eyebrows.

Lucas smiles in spite of himself, glancing at her outstretched hand before taking it in his own.

Riley's smile melts into a toothy grin, excitedly pulling him off the hood of the car and leading the way down to the pond.

For all the effort it took to make it work, it's the most fun the three of them have over the duration of Farkle's stay. Riley takes to showing Lucas all the basics of the camera, sticking to the basic point-and-shoot mentality and allowing him the freedom to try it for himself. Farkle passes off his nice camera to her and plays around with the disposable while Lucas uses hers.

At some point, Farkle hangs back a bit and gives the two of them space. Riley would be proud of his growing sense of interfacing if she even noticed in the first place.

As she expected, once Lucas masters the basics he asks her to teach him more about perspective. Which shots she'd aim to capture, what makes an image worth photographing at all. He's alight with an insatiable sense of curiosity, a desire to learn simply for the sake and joy of discovering something new. Considering how thoroughly that concept was destroyed for her at university, it's refreshing to see alive in someone else. She wonders if maybe skipping on college actually did him a favor.

Lucas listens intently as Riley frames up a shot of the tree line, tilting her head to speak to him as he watches the camera screen over her shoulder. He's standing close, close enough for her to see those stray freckles in perfect view.

She doesn't mind one bit. As far as she's concerned, she wouldn't have him be anywhere else.

* * *

When they pull up to Augusta Regional airport and walk Farkle into departures, Riley is honestly a little sad to see him go. She's not certain she'd prefer to keep him around for the remainder of the trip by any means, but he's becoming what she would consider a friend, and it's been a good stretch of time since she had a lot of those. Ones that feel genuine and dynamic and real, built off a unique sense of serendipity rather than because they have class together or a mutual acquaintance.

Suffice to say, when Farkle asks to exchange numbers so he can send the photos he took that afternoon, she's more than happy to hand over her phone. He doesn't bother to request the same of Lucas, a decision that is both indicative of him taking her advice to heart and simultaneously the smartest move he's made since they met.

"Be sure to let me know how your thesis turns out," she says, handing his cell back to him. "I'm interested to see all the people facts you observed."

"You'll be the first to know," he promises.

Once he pockets his phone and brings his hands to rest on his hips again, his ready-to-go posture, there's nothing left to do but say goodbye.

He stands across from both of them, clasping his hands together and searching for the right words to express his gratitude. "Well, I suppose I should thank you both. It's certainly been an eye-opening couple of days."

"Pleasure was all ours," Riley says politely. Lucas doesn't second this notion, but he doesn't make any motion to mock or refute it either. She decides to take that as a sign of progress.

"I don't put much weight in the idea of happenstance," Farkle starts, expression thoughtful. It's more hesitant, considerate, than most of his usual looks of confidence. It may very well be her favorite one on him. "Randomness, sure, the universe is filled with it. But the notion of things happening for a reason, because there's some grand plan laid out in the stars, that's never sat well with me. Didn't feel like something I could necessarily buy."

Lucas catches her eye, subtly raising an eyebrow. She smiles, bumping into him lightly.

"Meeting you two, though, it made me do a little more thinking. I still haven't decided whether I could believe it's true, exactly, but it's opened my mind a bit wider. As a scientist only attempting to reach the greatest understanding of the universe that I can, I figure that's the best discovery I could have ever made when I set out on this journey." He exhales, nodding. "So, thank you. Effusively."

Even with all of his eccentricities—his quirks, his annoying habits, and his know-it-all attitude—Riley decides she's glad to have met Farkle Minkus. Growing up, she would have loved to have gone to school with him and had him as a friend.

In some ways, she feels like maybe they are. Somewhere out there in that vast, possibly prophetic multitude of universes.

When he steps forward and opens his arms for a hug, Riley doesn't refuse. She accepts the embrace, patting him on the back and wishing him safe travels. As they pull apart and Farkle shifts his gaze to Lucas, she's mildly surprised when he's bold enough to step forward and wrap his arms around him too.

He doesn't hug back, of course. He's far too shocked to consider the idea, eyes wide and frozen solid as their lanky companion completes the gesture of warmth for the both of them. Riley can't help but laugh, stifling the sound behind her hand.

When Farkle finally releases him, he steps back and holds out his arms. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am Farkle. Thank you very much, and now I am off."

He leans over to pick up his bags, giving them one final salute before he saunters off to the security checkpoint.

Riley watches until he disappears through the gate, turning her eyes to Lucas instead. He seems to have shaken off some of the astonishment, muscles relaxing the further away Farkle travels from them. "Well, I think that could have gone much worse."

"Can't argue with that," he mutters, but his tone is already lighter than it's been the past couple of days. Riley is grateful to hear it, reveling in the sensation of the world reconfiguring itself back to the way the two of them built it. A bit surprised at how familiar it feels.

The universe has more shocking twists in store for them, as when they step outside of the terminal Riley is stunned to find themselves standing in the middle of a downpour. It's the kind of storm she's only heard about in theory, the sort that blows in out of nowhere and unleashes a fury of wind and rain upon unsuspecting Southern towns.

The moment a splatter of rain whips into her face she feels Lucas take her arm, yanking her back under the shelter of the awning sticking out from the airport structure. It doesn't do a whole lot of good, dozens of stray droplets leaking their way through and dripping onto her shoulders.

"Where the hell did this even come from?"

"Welcome to the South," Lucas says loudly over the thundering of the rain, shrugging off his jacket and lifting it to cover both of their heads.

Riley scoots closer to him and squints through the haze of headlights and glimmer of raindrops. It's odd, she recognizes, how such a torrential downpour can appear in the blink of an eye and turn everything upside down in its wake. How suddenly such a thing can occur, how drastically it can change the landscape of the world around them.

Looking up at Lucas, she realizes people can be the same way. He may have the demure composure of a summer day, but in her life he's been a hurricane, showing up in an instance of fate and completely flipping her world around as she knows it. Once upon a time such a concept would have terrified her, but now she can't imagine what her life would be like without him.

If he never brought the downpour, she doesn't think she would've survived the drought.

What a silly thing to be afraid of, a rainstorm in the middle of a summer night. When she's bowled a strike and crossed the country and opened her arms to the unknown, she doesn't see what there is to be apprehensive about.

Casting one more glance at him, green eyes twinkling in the light of the terminal and squinting into the wind, she decides she wants to be fearless instead.

Riley reaches up and grabs the jean jacket, pulling it from his grasp. He barely has time to react before she's gathering it in her arms, giving him a mischievous smirk and darting out from the awning straight into the torrential rain.

"What—?" he sputters, eyes wide as he calls after her. "What are you doing?"

"You just gonna stand there, or what?" she hollers back, waving his jacket tauntingly and laughing.

She wonders for a moment if maybe she is crazy, acting ridiculous in a way that is neither understandable nor particularly charming. The part of her that still cares about all that recoils, eating up her nerves in the two seconds Lucas hesitates that she's being an absolute idiot. She's being an idiot and she should give back his jacket and simply never move or speak again. It would be doing everyone a favor.

Then Lucas shakes his head, throwing logic to the whipping wind and barreling into the storm after her. Proving that if she is losing her mind, at least she doesn't have to do it alone.

Riley cracks up and starts running again as he dashes to catch up to her, footfalls splashing in the pooled rainwater across the parking lot and drenching her shoes. It doesn't matter much anyway, as there isn't one inch of her that isn't already soaked after a minute of stupidly standing in the downpour.

Lucas chases her halfway across the lot before slowing to a stop, pausing to catch his breath. He gives up, holding out his arms in surrender and turning up his face to the sky. Letting the rain consume him, knowing there's no point in fighting it anymore. He drops his hands to his sides, wiping his eyes and shaking his head like a wet dog.

Riley continues to giggle, edging back towards him yet still playfully protective of his now rain-soaked jacket. Lucas waits until she's close enough to make a grab for it, thwarting her attempts to dance away from his reach. He manages to snatch one of the sleeves, tugging it, and in effect, her, back in his direction.

There's something decidedly lovely about him soaked in rainwater. That's all her brain can seem to focus on as she's pulled back towards him, certainly not putting any more effort into evading him. He's all soft edges, warm smiles in spite of the fact that the storm is chilling them to the bone even with the muggy summer heat. Every bit of him is shimmering, yet still outmatched by the twinkle in those eyes. The moisture on his skin makes him glow, reflecting the way she feels like she's glowing from the inside out.

Riley wants to stop fighting too. More than the rain—she wants to stop fighting whatever logic remains intact in her useless mind and keeps her from pursuing whatever exactly there is existing in the air between them. It's growing harder and harder to ignore, and she's tired of the battles in her head.

Lucas echoes her laughter, not yet pulling the jacket from her hands. For the moment they share it, allowing it to be the thing maintaining the safe, sensible distance between them.

Then he raises his hand, reaching forward and brushing some of the wet hair from her face. Riley blinks the moisture out of her eyes, meeting his and still unable to keep the breathless grin off her lips. There are goosebumps on her arms, but they're not from the weather.

A moment of potential, for as long as his fingers linger in her hair. If Riley were truly fearless, she knows this would be the moment to explore the sanity of a second kiss.

Her chance flutters away before she even completes the thought. Lucas's hand is back at his side, and he's clearing his throat. He looks to her expectantly. "Car?"

The daze of wasted potential is much harder to shake off than the weight of the downpour. She manages a nod, crossing her arms and joining him in the search for Dave amongst the fleet of rain-sleeked vehicles.

* * *

In the time it takes to travel to their motel for the evening, the storm passes as if it were never even there and leaves only a pleasant drizzle in its wake. The chill doesn't truly set in until they've made it for the night, the air conditioning preset in the car freezing Riley right to the bone. Her teeth are chattering as she gets the key from reception, earning an eyebrow raise or two in her drenched state.

"Get caught in the storm?" the desk attendant questions, sliding the packet of room keys across the counter.

Riley tilts her head back and forth. "Something like that."

Upon entering their room, her first concern is simply to get warm and dryer than she is in her current state. She feels windswept in both body and mind, and what she needs is a good towel wrap to make the goosebumps on her shoulders disappear.

Lucas allows her to take control of the bathroom first, moving further into the room to hit the lights and drop their things. Riley snatches the first towel she can get her hands on, absorbing its warmth and softness before she even drapes it around her shoulders.

Bundled up, Riley settles down on the side of the tub and takes a moment to breathe. She closes her eyes, inhaling a deep breath before releasing it with a sigh.

When she opens her eyes, she's forced to look at her reflection in the mirror across from her. Boy, does she desperately need a shower.

But she figures Lucas is thinking the same, so she pulls the towel from her shoulders and focuses on wringing out her hair as she reenters the main room to plan out the rest of their schedule for the evening.

"Okay, I cannot believe how soaked I am," she states with a laugh, scratching her head with the cloth but knowing she's nowhere near dry.

Lucas grins at her, seated at the chair pulled up to the desk in the corner. He's looking at the map, obviously memorizing the route for tomorrow. Doing his best to operate as arbiter of the itinerary with as much precision as possible. "I'm guessing there's not a lot of rain in California?"

"I mean, sure, we get rain. We're not SoCal or anything where it's drought basically eleven months out of the year." She exhales through her lips, frowning down at her wet clothes and just realizing how uncomfortable they are. "Nothing like this, that's for sure."

Lucas gets to his feet. "Again, welcome to the South. Now you know why no one wants to stay here."

"Ha, ha." Riley rolls her eyes, resuming the task of attempting to wrangle her stringy hair. "Seriously though. Rain that heavy, all that wind—,"

"Stray hitchhikers," Lucas says cheekily, approaching her. She doesn't understand what he means until he reaches up to touch her hair again, totally numbing her brain and causing her to forget what he even said in the first place. His wrist brushes against her cheek as he works to detangle a section of her hair, ultimately pulling a runaway leaf from its clutches.

He holds it up indicatively, twirling it in his fingers. She wonders if he recognizes how close they're standing, how easily he took the breath from her lungs, or if he's just naturally so enchanting. For the hell of it.

"How charming," she manages to say, taking it from him and tossing it in the trash as an excuse to give herself a little space. Not because she's uncomfortable, but for the exact opposite reason.

Being so close feels too comfortable, too intriguing, and she has no idea what she might do in such an opportune situation.

"I was just going to ask what you were thinking about shower schedules," Riley continues, opting for routine in the face of all the unfamiliar ground. She straightens up, pushing her hair behind her ear. "I'm totally fine waiting, I feel like it's going to take me an hour to scrub all this precipitation out of my pores and you're usually quicker than me anyway."

Lucas shrugs. "Yeah, okay."

As he wanders over to gather his things, Riley finally takes the extra second to scan the room and discover that once again, they're sharing a room that's only offering them one bed to split between the two of them. And as far as she can see, there's no other alternatives for a suitable sleeping location—no armchairs in sight.

For whatever reason, the panic that settled over her the first time they ended up in this predicament is a no-show this time around. The bed is plenty big enough for the two of them to fit comfortably, and she doesn't want him to have to forgo another unfortunate night without rest just to accommodate some sense of modesty. As far as she's concerned, they've long surpassed the point of maintaining such a ridiculous caution.

Despite what she might wash away in the shower, she doubts the feeling she had in the rain is going to go away. She's done acting like they're complete strangers, and more than anything she's not going to let Lucas spend another night sleeping uncomfortably. For his own good, of course.

"Is there a side of the bed you prefer?" she asks casually, wandering over to place her backpack on the mattress. "I don't want to get all situated on one side only to have to pull a switcheroo, you know?"

Lucas freezes, caught off-guard in a similar way she imagines she felt when he decided to play leaf blower with her hair. He blinks at her, struggling to find an answer.

"I was just—," he starts, losing his train of thought before stumbling upon it again. "I was just going to sleep on the floor."

He gestures vaguely towards the carpet. Riley raises her eyebrows, letting out a bark of a laugh and shaking her head.

"Yeah, no, I don't think so."

Lucas makes a face, and she can practically hear his argument before he even opens his mouth. "Riley, it's really not—,"

"I know, I know, it's not a big deal," she says mockingly. She crosses her arms. "But it actually is. Just because you don't recognize it as such because you're so used to the bare minimum doesn't mean that you don't deserve better. And I'm not going to let you lose more sleep and do more damage to your spine when there's a perfectly good bed right here."

He scoffs. "If you're worried about my health, we're just at the tip of the iceberg."

"Lucas."

"Riley." He tries to hold her gaze, but her persistence is stronger this time. He falters, searching for another excuse. "It's only—,"

"Hmm?"

"I'm only saying that—,"

"Hmm," Riley interrupts, shaking her head to portray her inability to be convinced.

She narrows her eyes, waiting for him to stop starting sentences that she knows aren't going to go anywhere. She's made her mind up about this, and if he's going to be stubborn about it then she'll sleep on the floor as well just to prove her point.

Her mother gave her many things—most notably insecurity—but currently she's rather grateful for the stubborn streak she inherited.

"Lucas," she says pointedly. He meets her eyes and she tilts her head, nodding towards the mattress and raising her eyebrows.

Finally, he sighs. "I prefer the right side," he mutters, almost quiet enough that she can't hear him.

"Right side it is," she chirps, unable to hold back her grin.

Lucas rolls his eyes, grabbing his stuff and heading past her towards the bathroom. She watches him go, already looking at him when he pops back out of the doorway to speak again. "I just want the record to show I'm only doing this because you requested it."

"Oh, it wasn't a request," she states, emulating the authoritative tone of her mother to a tee and batting her eyelashes. Lucas stares at her, earning a gentle wave of her hand to gesture him on his way. He's not the only one who needs to shower tonight, after all.

After a moment he scoffs, shaking his head and shutting the bathroom door.

Honestly, Riley can't remember the last time she was so ballsy. She's admittedly pretty proud of herself, brushing off her shoulder for a bit of theatricality before focusing on getting settled for the night.

When Lucas is finished and returns to swap out with her, Riley is reminded of the strange thought she had when they were caught in the rainstorm. Seeing him all fresh and clean, relaxed and dressed in soft cotton and sweats—a far cry from all the defensive denim—she can't help but get stuck on the notion of soft edges. Certainly he's full of jagged sides, all of which he seems determined to keep hidden out of sight from her. But he's so much more than that, much softer than a first glance would lead you to believe.

The gentle smile he gives her as he passes by her only reaffirms the sentiment. "All yours."

"Thank you." She returns the beam as she steps around him, leaving him to get ready for bed. She whips around before she enters the bathroom, pointing at him. "When I get out, I better not find you on the floor."

He makes a face. "We'll see."

The shower is refreshing and sorely needed, giving Riley the chance to scrub out her mind while she's cleaning up everything else. The last few days have definitely been a rollercoaster, and it's nice to take the time to sort through her thoughts in solitude for as long as the water stays hot and the contemplation doesn't grow suffocating. Once she's exhausted the comfort of the steam, her fingers are prunes and she doesn't think she can handle another thought before she hits the pillow and gets some rest.

As it turns out, she has room for a couple more. The first is the odd sensation that tingles through her chest when she emerges from the bathroom and discovers Lucas did keep his word, tucked away under the covers on the right side and seemingly already asleep. Considering the emotional labor he exerted to not strangle Farkle, she can't say she's surprised he's drained.

The last thought of the evening comes after she's climbed into bed next to him, making another discovery as she moves to get under the blankets and sees that he's left the full bedding for her. He's under the comforter but not the sheets, still finding a way to keep a safe barrier between them. She's not sure if he's doing it because he is so intensely polite or if he's just trying to one-up her in this unusual courtesy game they've crafted, but she finds that she appreciates it either way. She wouldn't have minded, but the fact that he's considering her feelings at all is touching in way she doesn't expect.

Lucas truly is full of nuances, constantly defying her expectations. More than anything, she's grateful that of all the people the universe could've written in the stars for her to stumble into when she needed someone more than ever, the universe decided to bring her him.

* * *

The next morning, Riley wakes up before her alarm. She doesn't know why considering she went to sleep later than usual, but something draws her out of sleep and back into consciousness as sunlight is just beginning to peak through the curtains and propel her into a new day.

Rubbing her eyes, she checks her phone before rolling away from it onto her other side. If she can avoid the incoming blare of the chime she has set for as long as possible, she certainly intends to.

It isn't until she's facing the other side of the bed that she remembers what was so important about last night, turning to find Lucas snoozing in the space beside her. Still totally gone to the world, finally getting the kind of rest she figures he actually needs.

It's odd to see him so peaceful. He has a very calm natural demeanor, at least on the exterior, but she's always sensed that there is a lot going under the surface that keeps his expression and mental state far from serene. The turmoil that even Farkle could detect, so skillfully concealed beneath layers of denim and sarcasm and deflection.

Riley decides, fascinated by how gentle his features are as he sleeps, that she's going to learn all of it. She's going to figure him out and then she's going to find a solution to whatever is causing him stress, so that he can be just as peaceful in the light of day as he is resting here beside her. If she can give him a ride to somewhere better, then she determines she can give him that too.

He deserves it. She has not one doubt in her mind that he deserves it.

Ambition set, Riley closes her eyes and drifts off until her alarm bothers them both awake a few minutes later.

Their departure time is becoming impressively efficient, due in no small part to the amount of familiarity they're building with each other. Getting ready is like clockwork, the two of them dancing around one another in the perfect rhythm for starting the day at the top of their game.

As they're getting ready to head out the door, Lucas disdainfully lifts his jacket from the back of the desk chair. It's still damp, not drying nearly as quickly as their other clothes.

He gives her a pointed look. "This is all your fault. This is going to take days to fully dry."

"Good," she declares, shrugging her shoulders. She smiles at the scowl he makes, bundling up his dented armor and sticking it under his arm. He comes over to join her and the two of them step out into the hall, shutting the door behind them. "I think it's good. I think you could use a little bit of shaking up."

"Oh, joy."

"Luckily, you're with just the right person." She stretches out her arms and spins as she leads the way down the hall. "I'm all about mixing it up."

Somehow, it doesn't look like he believes her. "Great teacher _and_ master of shake-ups? You're just the whole damn package."

"And don't you forget it."

* * *

As if fate is determined to prove her claim false, she ends up directing them to another Applebee's for lunch before they finish the drive to the beach. She knows she's nothing if not a creature of habit, and as far as her pursuit of fearlessness is going her food choices on the road aren't doing much to help.

Lucas doesn't say anything as they head inside, but the look he gives her indicates he's got about a thousand and one witty quips running through his head that he's keeping to himself. She narrows her eyes, tacitly informing him he can keep it that way.

As another pleasant meal of familiar comfort foods draws to a close, Lucas picks a conversation topic that does a bit to shake her out of the dreamy state she'd been spending the morning wrapped up in. After taking another reluctant bite of macaroni—reluctant for the sake of dramatics at her expense, not due to the actual quality of the food—he taps his spoon against the edge of his bowl thoughtfully.

"So you said you're a writer," he begins curiously, locking eyes with her. "What do you write?"

Like most writers she's met in her twenty-two years, Riley basically hates talking about her own projects. Whenever someone asks her the typical questions you'd expect to be asked of a writer—what are you working on, what do you like to write, why do you want to be a writer—it's as if her entire consciousness goes offline and leaves her with a blank slate.

She'd love to give Lucas the full experience, to share every detail of the closest thing she's got to a passion with him. But her hell brain doesn't make exceptions to this rule, not even for him.

Instead of answering, she shrugs. "Oh, you know. Lots of stuff."

"That's vague. Have you written anything at all?"

She frowns at him, slightly offended by the insinuation. "Of course. I wouldn't call myself a writer if I didn't write."

"I'm pretty sure there are lots of self-proclaimed writers who don't actually write," Lucas points out. When she rolls her eyes he smirks, propping his elbows on the table and leaning forward slightly. "Well, I'm just saying, I'm interested. I'd love to read something of yours sometime."

Riley laughs in spite of herself, nearly choking on her water. Lucas raises his eyebrows at her reaction, glowering lightly.

"What? I'm serious."

"Oh, sure," she states, dabbing her lips with her napkin. She finds it funny that the guy who won't tell her anything about himself suddenly wants to read her writing—the most intimate thing a writer owns—but the ridiculous notion grants her with an idea. She sits up straighter, expression bright. "Actually, fine. I'll make you a deal."

Lucas clasps his hands together, intrigued. He nods for her to continue.

"I'll give you full access to one Riley Matthews original," she offers, lifting a finger to emphasize the point, "in exchange for a Lucas Friar exclusive." His features shift at the prospect, before melting into an amused look. "One story, with full detail, about a piece of your life. Storyteller's choice on both."

He hesitates, as if he's seriously contemplating the bargain. Riley finds herself holding her breath, wondering if she's maybe found a trade worthy of uncovering some of his best kept secrets.

"Never mind," he says with a shrug, leaning back in his seat. He taps his spoon on the table, the smug smile on his face indicating he's not so much disinterested but more so just playing hard to get to mess with her. "I didn't want to read them that badly."

Riley groans, slouching back and leaning her head back against the leather booth. Lucas cracks up, shaking his head and taking a stab at his remaining macaroni and cheese. Another move in whatever unique little game they've got going between the two of them, a loss on her part and frustrating her enough to search for a different play.

Her answer comes to her as the waitress brings them the check, placing it down on their table with a tight smile and darting off to the next table. Lucas glances at it and tilts it towards him to read the total, shifting his disdainful gaze to her.

"Hope you're happy."

Riley is reminded of the last time they sat in an Applebee's, identical to this one yet ending in a completely different scenario than she had ever left an establishment before. She remembers Lucas's intricate rules to scheming, suddenly feeling a little urge for mischief herself. She knows Applebee's can take the corporate hit, after all, and she's still itching to get another one-up on him for his rude dismissal of her earlier barter.

"Sure am," she says casually, gears turning a million miles a minute in her head as she comes up with a scheme of her own. "I'm going to hit the restroom real quick. Be right back."

He nods, searching his pockets for spare change. She takes a moment to admire how unusually pleasant it is to see him without the standard denim jacket—how much more secure it feels between them. She wishes she could tell him he isn't going to have to worry about the money, but she knows if she wants the ruse to be successful then he can't be in on it either.

Riley takes a deep breath, sliding her way out of the booth and willing her old theater skills from high school to resurface for the next five minutes.

Then, she makes a show of slipping on the floor the moment she steps out of the booth, hitting the floor with a _thud_ and letting out an impressive whine of pain.

Lucas looks up from the check, immediately growing more serious. He climbs out of the booth, coming to her aid in seconds. "Riley, are you okay?"

"Ow, I don't know," she exhales, wincing and reaching down to grab at her foot. "I don't know what happened, I think I might have slipped—,"

As if on cue, their waitress returns to check on their payment and spots the commotion. She frowns, darting over and assessing the damage. "What happened?"

"She slipped," Lucas says, not even tossing the woman a second glance. He examines Riley with concern, gently touching her shoulders and meeting her eyes. "Are you okay? Does anything hurt?"

For a second, she almost gets lost in his eyes, strangely even more entrancing with the concern shining through them. But she pulls it together, exhaling a pointed sigh and shaking her head. "I don't know, I'm sure it's fine. I just think my ankle—,"

Lucas gets to his knees, taking her hand and making a point of helping her to her feet. She plays it off like everything is fine, until the moment she attempts to take a step. Then, she milks the possible pain and lets out a cry, stumbling into his arms.

"What is it?" The waitress stares at her, eyes wide with apprehension. "What's wrong with her?"

Riley has to admit, she wasn't expecting all the blame to be so directly thrown at her. It's a bit rude, and she suddenly loses any reluctance she had about scheming this Applebee's.

Lucas seems to mirror her derision, scowling at the woman. "What's wrong with her is that clearly one of your employees can't remember to put up a wet floor sign when there's a walking hazard. I saw them mop this floor like ten minutes ago and no one put up any warnings."

Honestly, Riley hadn't even remembered that detail. She's impressed by just how aware Lucas seems to be of their surroundings at all times, but more so she's thrilled by how well he's playing his role without even realizing it.

A manager appears in the mix a moment later, obviously dreading the worst. "Is there an issue?"

"No, no, it's fine," Riley starts humbly, despite the fact that she apparently can't even stand.

"Yes, there's a problem. My friend is hurt, and I need to get her some help since apparently there isn't a whole lot of that here."

"You're not going to sue, are you?" the manager says nervously. "We can't afford another one of those."

Well, that's reassuring. Riley blinks, not certain how to follow that. "I think I just need to get to a doctor, maybe."

"We can call an ambulance," another busboy offers. She decides she feels a little bit bad about him.

"I think you've done enough," Lucas states protectively, draping Riley's arm around his shoulder and helping her start the walk towards the car. "I'll get her there myself."

"What about the check—?"

"We'll cover that, don't you worry about that," the manager interrupts his waitress, shooting her a tense look before offering Riley a cordial grin. "We just hope you feel better."

She holds up a hand to stop Lucas, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a few bills. She stretches to hand them to their waitress—following all the rules and making sure she still gets her gratuity where it's due. "Thanks so much."

Riley does her best to maintain her act of pain up until they're safely at the car, allowing Lucas to do an awful lot of work to help her there. Halfway across the sidewalk she's acknowledges just how close together they are considering he's practically carrying her, and when he tightens his arm around her waist to lift her off her feet when dismounting the curb she feels her stomach flip. She doesn't think it's from the sudden height.

"Okay, watch your head," he says softly as she hobbles her way into the passenger seat. "Careful. Do you need help?"

"I think I've got it," she says, waving him off. As he closes the door behind her and darts to the driver's side, Riley feels the most sorry about tricking him out of everyone involved. She wonders if maybe she should've told him about her scheme, not intending to worry him so much.

Then she remember how she certainly wasn't allowed in on the first time he pulled a stunt like this and how mortifying that was, and she feels a little less terrible. In fact, she's mostly interested to see his final reaction.

It's not far off as he slides into the driver seat and starts the ignition. "I don't know where the nearest hospital is. Do you have your phone? If you look it up—,"

"I don't think I need it," she says offhandedly, much more relaxed than moments ago.

Lucas notices the shift in her tone, frowning in confusion and turning his gaze on her. She tilts her head, idly rolling her ankles. Evidently not in any sort of tragic pain.

It takes him a couple of moments to get it. Then his jaw drops, completely flabbergasted.

Riley lifts her head, blinking innocently. "Everything alright?"

"That's—," Lucas says, exhaling and searching for something to say. He shakes his head, still staring at her. "That's fucked up."

"Oh, come on!" She grins at him, suddenly knowing exactly how he felt when the situation was reversed. When she told him he was horrible, but more out of irritation that she wasn't in on the joke. "You're just peeved because you fell for it just like they did. And I followed every single rule, so you can't say I'm not playing fair."

Lucas opens his mouth to argue, but comes up empty. They sit there idling in the parking lot, obviously not off in a rush to the emergency room.

"You're going to ruin the illusion if you don't get going," she says, checking to make sure no one from the restaurant is watching them. She cocks her head at him. "You need me to drive, or are you good?"

Lucas turns back to the wheel, scoffing and shaking his head again. He puts the car in reverse and begins pulling out of their spot. "Actually, yeah, you're driving Miss Drama Queen. As soon as we're out of view I'm pulling over."

Riley shrugs, relishing in her turn to wear the smug smile. "Whatever makes you feel better."

He's still shaking his head, but she can see the twinkle in his eye indicating he's not really that upset. Rather, he recognizes a challenge when he sees one, and she's fairly certain he's just accepted it for better or worse.

* * *

The drive to the beach is shorter than most of the stretches they've tackled in the last week. Riley maneuvers it with ease, humoring Lucas's faux indignation and allowing them to complete the drive in silence. In some ways, she actually enjoys the quiet between them—it isn't heavy like it usually with others. Like everything else with him, silences are easy. Comfortable.

When she pulls up to one of the smaller beaches and finds a place to park, she's honestly surprised Lucas hasn't said anything about it yet. She knows he's giving her the silent treatment, but he's been looking forward to the beach for days and she didn't think he'd be able to stay quiet when they got close enough.

As soon as she kills the engine, she figures out why he's doing such a good job of maintaining his cold shoulder. Not because he's putting in the effort but because he's dozed off in the passenger seat, head tilted on his shoulder towards the window where she's certain he was gazing when he drifted off.

It's one of the most endearing things she's ever seen. She debates waking him up, not wanting to disturb his rest but knowing how much he's been looking forward to this. One of those unreachable goals of his is suddenly right in front of him, and she doesn't want to be the reason he wastes another second without knowing it. Her whole purpose was to show him all the things he never got to see before, and she'll be damned if she doesn't take her craft seriously.

She touches his shoulder, lightly nudging him. "Lucas. Lucas, wake up."

He rouses with a start, inhaling sharply and sitting up straighter in his seat. The way he woke up so violently seems practiced, typical, like he's used to having to wake up suddenly and get moving at a moment's notice.

When he realizes he's still in her car, however, safe and in no desperate rush, he loses some of his trained tension. He screws his eyes shut and presses his palms to them, sighing before fully blinking himself awake. "I'm up. What's up?"

She can't wait for him to see it. She can't wait to share another first with him, to create another memory that she hopes is distinct and unforgettable.

She wants to give him absolutely everything, and she knows the fond smile on her face is doing absolutely no work towards hiding that.

"We're here."

* * *

 **A/N:** Happy Ficmas, day 7! I'm finally feeling totally reconnected with this story and I'm so excited to keep working on it through 2019. So thrilled to keep sharing it with y'all and hope you enjoy this chapter. :) We're definitely getting somewhere with these kiddos yes we are!

Also, I shifted the chapter titles to actual titles rather than locations because I'm dumb and couldn't even keep track of them myself. So they're a little more meaningful now than before.

Cheers! Happy holidays!


	8. check for damage ( lucas )

When Lucas steps out of the car and is officially closer to the coast than he's ever been before, he's enveloped by two very distinct sensations. The first is the pointed scent of sea salt, an aroma he's only ever tangentially experienced through the candle section of downtown Austin's home décor store. Then he's hit by the cold, the sea breeze cutting through him and providing a surprisingly sharp chill to an otherwise typical summer evening.

As he whips around to shut the door, he catches Riley shiver as she climbs out of the driver's seat. He can't blame her, considering she's even more defenseless against the sudden cool air than he is. He at least has his jacket.

"Are you cold?"

"What? No," she says, crossing her arms and waving him off. The way her teeth are chattering doesn't help her argument. "I'm totally fine. Let's go, the ocean is waiting for you."

Lucas can't bring himself to let it go. He's still peeved at her for her stunt in the Applebee's, but she doesn't want her to freeze. "It's not going to be very enjoyable if you're shuddering the entire time. Don't you have a coat or something?"

"Yes, but it's buried way down in my suitcase. I haven't exactly needed it." She walks her way around the hood of the car to join him, shrugging and nodding towards the boardwalk to the beach. "Come on, it's not a big deal."

"We can take the extra minute for you to grab it. I've waited this long, I think I'll survive another sixty seconds."

Riley rolls her eyes, nudging him playfully. "Like I said, I'm fine. Don't worry about me, this is supposed to be about you."

He can see the goosebumps on her arms. He can tell she's downplaying her own discomfort for his sake, but he doesn't see what the point is when he's entirely certain he won't be able to think about anything else as long as she's so clearly uncomfortable. She thinks she's doing him a favor, but all she's doing is proving that she continues to have far more of an impact on him than he ever anticipated.

Now he knows what he must sound like when he stubbornly refuses her offers of help in the name of being independent. It sure is annoying, and he doesn't have the virtue of being forgivably cute like her.

"Hold on," he says, opening the passenger side and crouching down to retrieve his backpack. Riley frowns as he digs through his mess of a travel bag, watching with curiosity and an ounce of impatience.

In his defense, his whole life is contained within this bag. He figures he has the right to be a little bit disorganized.

"Lucas—,"

He shushes her to stifle her complaints, finding what he's blindly searching for deep in the bottom of the backpack. With his jacket, he's hardly had to use it since summer rolled around. It takes him a minute, but he finally manages to pull the item from the depths without spilling out everything else.

Backpack resealed, Lucas shuts the door and swivels to face her again. He tosses the garment in her direction before she can object. "Here. Since you refuse to get one of your own."

Riley barely manages to catch it, bundling it close to her chest protectively when she almost drops it. She takes a moment to unfold it and get a better look, taking in the worn dark blue cotton of his most beloved sweatshirt. The only one he took with him in his frantic departure from the strip all those years ago, one of the only items that hasn't fallen apart with overuse and rough conditions.

"Brooklyn," she says, reading the lettering on the front aloud. She crinkles her nose, locking eyes with him. "I thought you said you never left Texas."

"Believe it or not, clothing with city branding exists even outside of said city limits."

Riley sneers at his sarcastic tone, flipping the sweater around to examine it fully.

"I got it at a thrift store in Austin when I was in high school," Lucas explains, searching for a way to fill the silence. He was kind of hoping when he tossed it in her direction that she would just put it on without question. "I wanted one that had a California city, because that was where I was really determined to go. But we settle for what we can."

She lifts her gaze, tilting her head. "You wanted to go to California?"

Too much information. Too close to all of the things he doesn't want to talk about, that he's so successfully managed to get further and further away from. California is a distant fever dream, growing further and further away with time and miles on the road. Now he's headed in the opposite direction, and it hasn't been half bad. At this point as long as he's getting away from the strip, he figures the final destination hardly matters.

"Just put it on please, I think your lips are turning blue."

She knows he's exaggerating and avoiding the question, but she obliges anyway. She pulls the sweatshirt on over her head and takes the moment to adjust it on her shoulders, the sleeves stretching just past her palms. Her shorts poke out just enough underneath the hem to indicate they're there, but he supposes on a beach no one would really give it a second thought.

What he doesn't expect is how surreal it is to see his clothes on someone else. It's an odd out of body experience. So much of his life has been fiercely individualized, isolated, operating on the basis that what is his is his and it's all he has so he better not go around giving it away. But then there's Riley, wearing his prized sweatshirt and coaxing personal information out of him with the bare minimum effort and completely flipping the world as he's come to know it upside down.

The weirdest part is, he sort of likes it. He likes the way it looks on her, and there's a strange hot feeling in the pit of his stomach that seems to grow warmer the longer he stares at her.

God, she's dangerous. She's comfortable and she's disarming and she's dangerous, able to get him to give everything he has away without a second thought. All she offers in return is that soft smile and those curious brown eyes, and somehow he's convinced himself that's enough.

"Satisfied?"

It takes him a minute to recognize she's addressing him. He clears his throat, crossing his arms. "Think I should be the one asking you. Feels nice not to have your teeth chattering out of her your skull, huh?"

Riley rolls her eyes again, but her bashful smirk makes it clear he has a point. She nudges his shoulder before walking backwards, leading the way towards the beach. "Enough outta you, wanderer. Come on, it's time to change your life forever."

* * *

The thing that strikes Lucas the most about the ocean is how vast it is.

Obviously, he knew that it would be—he's seen photos and movies and knows it's as deep as it is wide, one of those terrains that even the world's best scientists will never be able to fully explore. No matter how deep they venture, they'll never be able to reach the bottom. A part of the ocean is always going to remain a mystery, hiding all of its darkest secrets on the sea floor.

Knowing that, it's strange to stand in front of it and act as though he's seeing everything there is to see. In some ways, it's a tad overwhelming—the sea stretching on and on for miles until it reaches the horizon line. Going on forever, never entirely attainable. He's not sure what's worse: fear of being trapped in the same tiny place, or the fear of knowing you'll never be able to see everything anyway.

All things considered, it's still pretty. They head down the beach at the perfect time, with the setting sun painting the sky and the water a peculiar blend of golden-grey. The pier in the distance is shrouded in shadow against the horizon, and the coast is relatively unoccupied this far down the beach. Save for a couple other couples wandering along the sand or heading back to their cars, they're alone as usual.

Lucas doesn't mind so much. As he's learning, being with Riley sometimes feels like all he really needs.

He can tell he must look overwhelmed, because Riley's giving him a smile that indicates she finds his reaction amusing in some capacity. "What?"

"Nothing," she says, shrugging and slipping her hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt. "Everything you thought it would be?"

"Well, I don't exactly have the irresistible urge to go jumping into the water like all the ads made me think I would."

Riley laughs, earning a smile from Lucas in spite of himself. She pushes some hair out of her face as the wind blows it around, squinting at him with the sun in her eyes. It makes them look more hazel than usual, though just as twinkly.

"It's okay," she assures him. She starts to pad her way down the beach, nodding for him to follow along. He jogs to catch up to her, glancing over his shoulder at the stretch of beach behind them. "I'm not really a huge water person either. Typically, when my family would come to the beach, I'd do this. Just walk."

"Even with Auggie? Something tells me he'd like the water. The people running to jump into the water are always little kids with curly hair in the commercials."

Another laugh. He's doing a pretty good job tonight. "Of course, if Auggie asked me to play, I would. But he was surprisingly actually more into sand castles. Quite the growing architect."

"Wow. Impressive."

"But yeah. Usually my parents would play with him and I'd walk. I don't know why I like it so much, but something about the setting is nice. Soothing. Really conducive for thinking. Did some of my best thinking while walking on the beach."

"Really?" Lucas raises an eyebrow. "Like what?"

She hesitates. "Well, I don't remember now. But it was really important at the time, believe me. Groundbreaking stuff."

Lucas's turn to laugh. Riley crinkles her nose, nudging him with her elbow and effectively drifting closer to him at the same time. He can't help but notice the fact that she doesn't make an effort to reestablish the earlier distance between them.

They continue a few more yards down the beach in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Lucas can see what she means about the beach being a favorable environment for reflection—there's not much to distract him aside from the sound of the waves coming and going, and the sunshine glittering on the surface of the water but growing less prominent as the sun disappears below the horizon line.

Riley eventually stops, finding a sizeable piece of driftwood. She lightly touches it with her hand to check for dampness before settling down on it, propping her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands together. It takes a moment before Lucas realizes he should sit down as well, but he can't force his feet to move until she tosses him a smile, gesturing for him join her.

He plops down but avoids looking at her, letting out a sigh and bouncing his legs in the sand. He keeps his eyes on the water until he becomes acutely aware of the silence, shifting his gaze to look at her out of the corner of his eye.

Riley chews on her bottom lip absentmindedly, the fading sunlight washing her in shades of gold. She's staring out towards the horizon as well, but he has the feeling she's not so captivated by the sunset over the water. She's here next to him but her mind is somewhere else, lost on a completely different train of thought. It's an expression he's seen her wear more than a couple times since they met, but it's always disappeared before he had the chance to question it.

He lightly nudges his shoulder against hers, snapping her out of it. "Everything okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah," she promises, offering him a smile. It doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I was just thinking about the last time I came to the beach."

"Not a good trip?"

"No, I'm sure it was fine." She pauses, her lip caught between her teeth again. "I just don't remember when it was. It's been so long since my family did something like that. Just got busy, I guess."

He wonders if telling her his family never did anything like that would make her feel better or worse. If they did ever take any family-oriented trips, it was long enough ago that there aren't any lasting memories, and if they did Lucas seriously doubts his father would have been in attendance. His mother, maybe. Pappy Joe, undoubtedly.

Kenneth? No chance.

"Last I can remember, Auggie was building sand castles. Now he's sixteen and is going to be a senior next year. He's going to graduate soon." She shakes her head. Her gaze is stuck on the coast, watching the waves roll in before slipping back into the ocean. "That's crazy."

"Feels like an eternity ago," Lucas admits. He can barely remember what it was like being sixteen, still in school and getting his license and assuming that everything was going to stay the same. That nothing was going to change, regardless of whether it was good or bad.

He's done so much growing up in the last five years, not all of it wanted. He doesn't even know if he could call the person he was when he was sixteen and the person he is now the same.

"Think he'll be an architect?"

"I don't know. I hate to say it, I mean I really hate it, but I don't feel like I know him well enough to say so." Riley chuckles, pushing some hair behind her ear and shrugging. Then, in the next moment she's laughing harder. "How fucked up is that? He's my favorite person in the world and I don't even know him."

Lucas wishes he had something wise to say that would fix everything. He wishes he had all the solutions, and whatever he had to offer would do a shred of good so that Riley never had to face the hard stuff. That she wouldn't have to ask these questions or think these thoughts or wear that expression that takes her so many miles away from him.

But he doesn't have that. He can't even fix his own problems. So, he offers the only defense he has: self-deprecation.

"Well, so long as he actually ends up walking across the stage and getting his diploma, I'm sure he'll be fine," he says cheekily, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles. Riley gives him a disdainful look and he grins in reply, successfully eliciting a smile out of her.

If he can keep doing that, then he figures he's doing something right in the world.

She lets her gaze linger on him a little longer, shifting from fond to thoughtful. "It really doesn't mean much, you know."

"What?"

"Graduating," she explains. She adjusts slightly to face him, knees bumping against his. "I mean, it does matter because society tells us it does, but it doesn't change you. I've graduated, twice now at this point, and I don't feel any more prepared." She scoffs, looking up towards the sky. "In fact, if anything, I just feel more inadequate than I did before. A diploma sounds good, but it's just a piece of paper."

"You're not inadequate," Lucas states sharply, waiting for her to drop her eyes back down to meet his. Although he still doesn't quite trust himself, this is a cause he thinks is worth risking eye contact to get across.

Riley processes his words, obviously a bit surprised by the ferocity of the statement. He's a bit surprised himself, but he means it. He needs her to know it's true.

She maintains his glare, matching the seriousness of his tone. "Neither are you."

He doesn't get how someone who is so gentle, so welcoming and inviting in every aspect, can have such an intense gaze. It's full of sincerity, and kind-hearted affection, a courtesy she's extended to him since the moment she offered him a ride. A sincerity he doesn't deserve.

He swallows hard, tearing away from the eye contact first and dipping his head down. Staring at the sand underneath his boots rather than at her.

"Why did it happen?" she asks after a few moments of silence. She tentatively scoots a little closer to him on the wood, leaning forward to see his expression. "You haven't talked about it. Obviously, you don't have to. But I'd like to hear about it if you want."

Revealing another layer of his messy history from the Sundance Strip, no matter how miniscule, is the last thing Lucas wants to do.

"I just have trouble believing it was bad grades or something."

He makes a face, picking at the band-aid on his hand. He wonders if maybe it's time to replace it. "Why's that?"

"Because you're smart." When he bursts out laughing she makes an indignant noise, smiling in spite of herself and squeezing his shoulder to get his attention again. "Listen to me! Okay, maybe not like, Farkle Minkus, researcher extraordinaire and heir to Minkus International, blah blah blah, smart."

Lucas grimaces at the mention of their former car companion.

"But look, anyone clever enough to scheme his way into free meals and survive on the road for however long on his own isn't full of hot air up here." She taps his temple and he shrugs away from her, swatting playfully at her hand. "So whatever reason you don't have a diploma for doesn't have anything to do with your academic interest, I'm guessing. Especially considering you're so excited to see the Smithsonian."

"Lots of people are excited to see the Smithsonian every day."

"Yes. Nerds."

Lucas gives her a disapproving look, earning a beam from her in response. He breaks into a smirk and shakes his head, focusing on picking at a hangnail on his thumb. Riley doesn't push him, but he can still feel her eyes on him.

He doesn't want to tell her. He doesn't want her to know any of the bad stuff, he's tried so hard to make sure she doesn't.

And yet, he finds himself opening his mouth anyway.

"It just wasn't a good situation," he mutters. He keeps his eyes on his hands rather than her. "I did a lot of stupid stuff—for a lot of stupid reasons—so the administration wasn't too fond of me. But yeah, my grades weren't all that bad. I liked school. I wanted to do more. I don't really think… I don't think school itself had anything to do with it. I wasn't leaving school."

Riley pauses, listening intently. He knows her eyes are still on him, waiting for more. "What were you leaving?"

Where does he even begin? The house that felt empty even on the best of days, the friends who built him up to be something he wasn't, the community that looked down on him from elementary school and never gave him a second chance? The mother who had no idea how to deal with him and the father who didn't even try?

The suffocating feeling of the Strip and the sense that no matter what he did, how hard he tried, or who he became, he was always going to be Lucas Friar. The kid who fell off Judy the Sheep and embarrassed his entire family, the violent juvenile who went nuts and beat up a kid twice his size, the no-good troublemaker who stopped trying and wasted his existence.

The Sundance nothing who put everything he possibly had into being something more, and still ended up trapped in the same place he's always been.

He shrugs aimlessly. "Everything else."

Now he's Lucas Friar, the dirty drifter with no diploma, no future, nothing but the local feds on his case for stealing a scrap here and there. A perfect representation of everything they thought he would be—a wasted existence fighting to survive.

He jumps slightly when he feels Riley's hand on his shoulder. She locks eyes with him, offering him a hesitant smile.

"Well, you got out, didn't you? At the end of the day…" She glances out towards the ocean, now turning inky black as the sun disappears. "You made it."

It's a strange reminder, but he supposes in a way he did. A week ago he was stuck in Texas, going back and forth along the same roads but never moving forward. Going beyond the border was out of the question, to say nothing of the coast. He's already gone farther than he ever actually thought he would, so in some ways maybe she's right. Maybe he did.

And it's all because of her. Without Riley, he'd be stuck in the same place he always was—was always destined to be. She changed everything. She has no idea, but she got him out.

He's suddenly very conscious of how close they're sitting. He can feel his pulse pounding in his wrists and there's a weird cold feeling in the pit of his stomach to replace the earlier heat, spreading through his nerves like ice. It's suddenly hard to swallow.

He wants to tell her thanks. He wants to express to the best of his ability how much of an impact she's had on him, even if he knows it's impossible to do it justice. Whatever he manages to say, he wants to make that clear. He needs her to know that, too.

"Riley?"

When she turns her gaze back to him, polite smile gracing her face as usual, he doesn't have any words. He never does. All he has is ice in his stomach and gratitude choked up in his lungs and a head full of bad decisions.

Before Riley can respond he cuts her off, leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers.

He's quite aware that he has absolutely no idea what he's doing. It's obvious Riley doesn't know what he's doing either, because there's a good couple of seconds where stunned is the only emotion he could use to describe her. She's tense next to him, and he knows enough about body language and signals that he's pretty certain he should pull away.

That is until he feels her slowly relax, leaning into him and kissing him back.

Riley knows a lot more about all this than he does, and that's entirely evident in how the stiffness in the kiss shifts to something softer the moment she sinks into it rather than pushes him away. He's conscious of how he still doesn't know what to do with his hands, and how Riley tastes like strawberries, and how his heart is pounding so hard he can hear it in his ears and he has to believe she can hear it too. He's conscious of all of this but doesn't have the chance to process it because his brain has completely shut down, even less help than it usually is.

It's a lot like the vulnerability in their conversation from moments earlier. He doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing, he doesn't think he should be kissing her—what on Earth gives him the right to think he deserves it?

But yet, he's doing it anyway. The only difference in this case being that unlike the vulnerability, he wanted to do this. If he's being completely honest with himself, he really, really wanted to.

He can't remember much from their first kiss considering the brain crash similar to the one he's currently experiencing, but he has a vague recollection of Riley telling him there are two kinds of first kisses. He wasn't quite sure what their first one was, and he didn't quite get the differentiation at the time anyway, but after this he gets the difference. He knows exactly what she means.

This is definitely the second kind.

Lucas pulls away first, certain that if he doesn't he'll pass out from lack of oxygen. All that gratitude clogging up his lungs.

He breaks the kiss and inhales shakily, Riley fumbling slightly and stabilizing herself by gripping his arm. He dips his head down to catch his breath, feeling embarrassed by how unprepared he is. He has to figure if he was going to kiss her without her permission, he could've at least been a little more ready.

Neither of them move. Riley's back to chewing her lip, lightly tilting her head against his in an attempt to balance herself after he threw her so off-kilter. He figures the least he can do is let her, frozen in a desperate attempt to stop time. Maybe if he doesn't move from this spot, if he stops existing right then, they won't have to acknowledge this ever happened.

He's grounded back to real time with Riley's grip on his arm, her thumb gently rubbing against the crook of his elbow.

"Sorry," he finally murmurs. He can't bring himself to look at her, keeping his gaze on the wood between them. "I don't know why I did that."

"It's okay," she says softly. Sincere as usual.

Riley may disagree on the principle of politeness, but he knows it's not okay. Sure, something about it was intriguing and captivating and felt good—felt right, really—but it's not okay. All she's done is accommodate him and do him favors with nothing in return, and he's not going to let that stretch that into a physical territory she wants absolutely no part in.

Besides, he's already made things worse for himself. The entire reason the dynamic of their relationship was so hard to figure out the last few days was because of their first kiss, and now he's made it even more confusing with this one. Regardless of what it means, regardless of how it feels, Lucas doesn't want to do anything to put this connection that they share in jeopardy. She's his ticket out, his ticket around the world, but most importantly, she's his friend.

Somehow, they're friends. And he doesn't want to risk that for anything.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, backing off and clearing his throat. He forces himself to make eye contact with her—seeing some of the confusion he knows he's felt in the last few days reflected back at him. "Let's just forget… can we pretend that didn't happen? Clean slate. Like things were before."

Riley examines him for a long time. His heart is still pounding in his wrist. The longer he holds her puzzled gaze, the more a part of him wants to disregard reason and forget about everything else. The same part of him that wants to ask if she'd allow him to kiss her again—permission first, this time around—and pray to God that she'd let him.

But he knows he's doing the right thing. Fixing this mess before he naturally makes it any worse. Riley thinks he's smarter than he is, so he may as well start acting like it and make smart decisions.

Riley confirms this with an eventual nod of her head. "Okay. Clean slate."

She holds out a hand cheekily, forcing a smile and providing him more of her natural charm. Giving him an out to pretend like everything is alright, like he didn't just make things a hundred times worse.

He's not foolish enough not to take it, though. He lets out a strained chuckle and links his hand in hers, shaking on behalf of officiating their clean slate. Still friends, still road trip companions, but back to the basics. Ideally forgetting all of the stupid mistakes he made in the journey it's taken to get here.

Considering he's pretty convinced it was an easy decision for her, he's confused when there's a plaintiveness to her expression. Something like that distant expression that he can't place—but it looks an awful lot like disappointment.

* * *

Lucas continues to be impressed by how even with the best intentions, he still manages to make everything he touches crumble in his hands.

When he suggested that he and Riley craft a clean slate and start over, he thought it would make things easier. Less confusion, less room for uncertainty, less obligation on Riley's part to humor him in any way she's not remotely comfortable with. Aside from running from the situation, it seemed like the quickest and most logical way to put things back in order.

Instead, all it's done is complicate things further. It starts from the moment they get back to their hotel for the evening, when Riley discovers yet another instance of the single bed scenario and politely insists at the front desk that they switch it up and reserve one with two. Such a demonstration of her commitment to their new agreement should be a relief, but all it does is remind him how much of a burden he actually is and how much extra work she has to put into accommodating him.

If he could have it his way, the way he thinks he deserves it, he'd sleep outside in the jumbo trash bin and leave her alone. Not that he's ever done such a thing before, of course.

Then he keeps getting in her way. While it seemed as though they were figuring out a pretty solid rhythm in traveling with one another, his requested decree seems to have completely thrown them out of step. They're constantly bumping into each other, knocking elbows as they pass by or reaching for the light at the same time or literally colliding in their attempts to side step the other. It's as if the universe is making a point to highlight exactly how their dynamic is doing, prompting constant reminders of how close they've unintentionally tangled themselves over the course of the last week and some change.

It would be humorous, really, if it weren't so mortifying.

By the time they pull over the next morning to refill the gas tank and stock up on provisions, Lucas has elected to stop speaking entirely. He's determined to make himself as small and unimposing as possible, as if that'll make up for everything else.

Riley pokes her head into the car after starting the pump, picking up stray trash from the cupholders and around the seats. "I'm going to handle this and then run to the restroom I think. Do you think you can run inside and buy a couple of waters? Also, some chips would be amazing. I'm feeling snacky."

"Water _and_ chips?" Lucas whistles, raising his eyebrows. "I don't know. I don't know if you want to trust me with such a big responsibility."

She gives him a look, reaching into her wallet and pulling out a ten dollar bill. She gestures for him to hold out a hand and sticks the money into his palm, squeezing his hand for emphasis. "Somehow, I think you'll manage."

Not bad. Not the worst exchange between a couple of good friends. He just wishes his stomach would stop insisting on turning every time she touches him.

He climbs out of the car and stuffs the bill in his pocket. "Barbecue, right?"

Riley blinks at him, obviously impressed. After a moment, a smile blooms across her face.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's perfect. Thanks."

Lucas nods, working overtime to keep himself from mirroring her smile. He leaves her behind and disappears into the convenience store, abandoning the ease of their shared universe and reentering the world of exceptionally mundane.

As he peruses the aisles and utilizes the alone time to clear his head, he finds himself wondering just how many minutes of his life he's spent idling around gas stations or something of the like. It's one of the more convenient places to hitch a ride, but he'd be lying if he claimed those who usually picked him up from one weren't the least enjoyable hosts. Makes for great stories, sure, like the woman who he's relatively certain agreed to give him a ride in the hopes that he'd murder her—man, Texas is full of weirdos—but doesn't exactly make for a relaxing journey.

Then, beggars can't be choosers. He put himself in this situation, and he knows he's the luckiest man alive to have stumbled upon someone as friendly and partially sane as Riley. He knows this better than anything, so it's incredibly frustrating that he seems prone to find every conceivable way to threaten this stroke of luck.

All the sudden, exhaustion hits him full force and he feels like he could seriously use a drink. He eyes the whiskey tucked away behind the cashier counter, but he's only got ten dollars to his name at the moment and that's not going to cover it after the barbecue chips. It's for the best, but he can't help but stew in the drama of it all.

The exhaustion zaps out of him like electricity the moment the newest patron steps up to the counter, causing him to inhale a gasp and duck back behind the aisles and out of sight.

It must've been a mistake. It had to have been someone who simply looked like him—there's no way that he would be all the way out here, so far away from the strip. He has no reason to be, and Lucas is fairly certain he isn't worth chasing all the way across state lines over a few swiped goods and a bout of shoplifting. Regardless of the personal vendetta Sheriff Yancy has made his disappearance into, he doubts that anybody would have pursued him all the way out here to the end of the continental United States over a few loaves of stale bread.

But then, he wouldn't have reacted so viscerally if the threat wasn't real. He wouldn't have, and the fact of the matter is he would know the back of his best friend's head anywhere even with all the years that have passed. There _was_ that glimpse of the police cruiser he convinced himself he imagined…

Zay saw him leaving the strip with Riley that day, he knows he did. He just can't believe he would drive all the way out here after him, especially considering he certainly wouldn't consider him a friend anymore. After the way Lucas left, he couldn't blame him.

He realizes he's dropped the bottle of water he was carrying. It's laying forlornly at his feet and his hands are trembling, panic searing into every single one of his cells and urging him to do something. Urging him to run, if that's the only option he has left.

He's not going back. He's not going back to be a Sundance nothing.

Cautiously, Lucas peers around the end of the aisle towards the register. The patron has finished their transaction and seems to have left the building, giving him the window of a chance to act.

Lucas climbs to his feet, heart pounding against his rib cage. He makes a beeline for the exit, determined to catch another glimpse of the mysterious gas station patron if just to give him a sense of clarity. To prove or disprove his rampant anxieties, so he can decide what he's supposed to do next.

He ignores the calls of the cashier behind him and darts out of the sliding doors, beginning a breathless march into the parking lot and scanning for any sign of Zay. Any indication of a Sundance cruiser or a wanted poster with his name all over it. Searching for the obvious piece to the puzzle that doesn't belong.

"Lucas?"

There's nothing to see. Just stagnant vehicles and impatient drivers, waiting for their cars to fill up and staring at him apprehensively. He doesn't know why they're staring, but he wants them to stop. His hands are still trembling.

He's losing his mind. Honest to God, he's losing his mind.

"Lucas!"

Her voice finally breaks through his haze and then Riley is there beside him, gripping his arm and pulling him back down to Earth. It takes him a second to focus on her, still itching with the feeling that he's under a microscope and astounded by how hard it hits him that he's stopped breathing.

Despite how he feels like he's drowning, her gaze is somehow just enough to pull him out from under. Her features are etched with concern, her other hand coming up to gently touch his wrist. "Are you okay?"

He doesn't have an answer. His lungs are too busy remembering how to inhale, allowing some oxygen to return to his brain. With her fingers touching his hand, he's suddenly aware of how clammy they've gotten in the last few minutes.

"Is he paying or what?" The gas station clerk is standing in the doorway, eyeing him suspiciously with a pointed scowl.

He knows that look. He's all too familiar with that look. He's absorbed it too many times to count, yet it's impressive how effectively it makes him sick.

Slowly, he glances down at the potato chips still clutched in his hands. Merchandise he seemingly darted out without paying for. At least, he has to think, he knows why everyone was staring at him.

"Just a second," Riley assures the cashier civilly, before turning her attention back to Lucas. She examines him carefully, gently prying the chip bag from his fingers. "I'll handle this, okay? Go and wait in the car. And walk slowly, I don't want you to hurt yourself."

If she's worried he's going to pass out, he must look as bad as he feels. He nods agreeably, releasing the near stolen goods into her possession and allowing her to take care of the mess he inevitably created.

As he takes the walk of shame back to the passenger seat, instantly the solution to his earlier hysteria-induced question clicks into place. The presence of his former friend and fractured history, mirage or not, isn't the piece that is out of place.

No, it's him. The thing that doesn't belong is him.

* * *

The car hasn't felt this tense since the first time Lucas climbed into the passenger seat. A detour that feels like an eternity ago, the last remnants of a fading past he's desperately trying to shed for good. One that continues to haunt him regardless, dredging up the same sort of emotions and anxieties no matter how far away he gets from it.

In this case, however, he knows the tension is his fault. Because he made things odd, and now he's only making it worse with his inability to talk.

He can tell Riley wants him to say something. She was content to give him space for the first fifteen or so minutes, but the longer they sit suffocating in the silence the more restless she becomes. When her fingers start tapping against the steering wheel the closer they creep to an hour on the road, he knows he's going to have to address it eventually.

And a good part of him wants to. There's a part of him, growing every day he's traveling with her, that wants to just come right out and say it. Say everything there is to know and everything he's done, just so that it'll stop consuming him from the inside out. In fact, he has to imagine that just talking about it to someone, anyone, would do a lot of good. If that's the case, he can't think of anyone who could help more—who deserves the honesty more—than Riley Matthews.

But an emerging desire for weakness isn't strong enough to overcome years of trained resistance and self-preservation. He's learned to keep his feelings to himself, even long before the fighting and the expulsions and the shattered dreams. It's a Sundance inheritance, the walls that all of them learn to build as high as possible that only fortified from his experiences at home.

The walls around him have hardened to steel through the strip and the side of the road, and they're not going to crumble simply because a pretty pair of brown eyes request it. Even if he wants them to.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Riley finally murmurs.

He doesn't have the words to respond. Because yes, he does want to in that nauseatingly pathetic part of himself. But it also seems like the absolute worst thing he could possibly do, so much so that the mere thought of doing so paralyzes him.

So he doesn't offer a reply, keeping his arms crossed over his chest and watching the world pass them by in a blur through the car window.

Riley sighs, pushing her thumbs against the interior of the steering wheel and frowning out towards the road. She shakes her head lightly, but whether the frustration is directed at him or the situation he's not sure. Probably both.

He's familiar with that reaction, too. It's one of the most vivid memories he has of his grandfather, the amount of times he would look at him with a furrowed brow and shake his head, baffled at how his grandson seems determined to get himself into more and more trouble. Wondering how he always manages to make the wrong decision, seriously pondering the possibility that maybe he really is a lost cause.

Maybe no matter how much encouragement he gets or punishment he receives, his only kin is destined to go down in flames. Disappointed that by the looks of it, the fire is going to be the ones he set all on his own.

Lucas knows if Pappy Joe were here now, he'd be shaking his head, too. The thought makes his throat ache in a way that screams danger, so he swallows hard and digs his fingernails in the palm of his hand in an effort to focus on something else. Anything else.

"I know I don't know the situation," Riley ventures, speaking slowly as to not accidentally set him off or make it worse. They've already had one harsh interaction when she prodded him about the napkin phone number, and she's clearly learned her lesson. One Lucas is still mad at himself for, considering she's the last person who deserves to be on the other side of his anger. "But speaking from my own experience, talking about it might actually help. It might help the impact of whatever—,"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Riley pauses. He's pointedly not looking at her, but he can imagine the skeptical expression on her face without having to see it. "Normally, I'd take that. But I saw the way you were when we left the gas station. I just want to make sure you're alright."

He's not going to snap. He's not going to snap. His fist is clenched so tightly he isn't sure he's not going to give himself scarring. It wouldn't be the first time.

"I don't think you were going to steal those chips, if that makes a difference. I know you're not—,"

"Well, then seems like you know everything you need to know about the situation," he says shortly. He can feel her gaze on him, shifting uncomfortably. "I don't know what else there is to say, so—,"

"Stop," she says suddenly.

He turns to look at her, scowling. "What?"

"Stop," she repeats, reaching a hand out to take his and prying open his fist. He's stunned enough by the bold initiation of contact that he doesn't fight her, allowing her to hold his palm open and show off the flesh wounds he'd inevitably given himself in the last few minutes.

He's burning alive in his own inferno. There's no doubt about that.

Riley glances down at his hand, torn between the road and wanting to give her full attention to this new development. Yet another inconvenience she'll have to patch up with a spare band-aid.

He's going to be sick. He pulls away from her first, letting her hand drop to the median between them and crossing his arms again.

Riley readjusts her grip on the steering wheel, evidently processing. Scrolling through the last week and a half in her head, trying to assemble the pieces of him she has at her disposal in a way that makes sense. Considering how little he's given her, he knows it can't be an easy task. If he were her, he'd pull onto the side of the road and kick him out just for the peace of mind.

"I'm trying to help, you know. I'm not trying to—," She loses her own train of thought, frustration getting the better of her. "I just think considering I let you into my car without much investigation, the least you could do—,"

For whatever reason, this ticks him off. If he knew that bearing his soul to her would be the payment for hitching a ride, he would've hidden in the dump behind the gas station and waited for the next nobody to drift along.

He scoffs. "Okay. Sure."

"Why are you being like this?" Riley shifts in her seat, obviously wishing she could glare at him rather than the road. It's relatively empty at the moment, so there's not even another messy driver or obnoxious vanity plate to direct her derision towards. "I haven't pushed, I'm not asking to get a rise out of you—,"

"Because you want me to talk and I don't have anything to talk about—!"

Her voice cracks. If she cries and it's because of him, he's ejecting himself from the vehicle. He won't even make her stop, he'll tuck and roll. "I'm just worried, okay? I care about you—,"

Somehow, this makes everything worse. She's attempting to wear down the steel with softness, and it all does is make it more dense.

"I just think it's funny that you're acting like I'm the only one holding things back."

Riley makes a face, obviously lost. "What are you even—?"

"How's your mother?" Lucas asks sharply, tilting his head at her. "Seemed pretty important that you took her call the other day."

She blinks, caught. Although he knows he's probably stepping on sensitive territory, the part of him that's constantly ablaze gets a sick sense of satisfaction from knowing he's made his point.

The car jolts suddenly, breaking Riley out of her shock. An odd sensation since Lucas didn't see any potholes on the road, but he's a little preoccupied at the moment as it is. She scoffs. "That's not—that's not what we're talking about right now."

"See? Really easy to be the one asking for answers rather than giving them."

Dave continues to shudder as if they're running over gravel. Lucas thinks he hears something pop, but it's hard to tell with the way Riley is raising her voice. "Well, I'm not the one who almost passed out at a gas station!"

"As if that's—,"

"You don't get it, do you? I'm not trying to find reasons to judge you or like… cast you out! Can you just believe that for a second?" Riley is gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles are white. "Friends listen to one another, and I would listen. I'm your friend!"

It's hard to believe, despite how badly he wants it to be true. It's not Riley's fault, she's the best friend Lucas thinks he could ever have been gifted considering what little good he deserves. But she's Riley, and he's him, and he burns down everything he loves—even the good things.

He doesn't want to burn her down with him.

He can't look at her anymore. He slouches back against the seat, trying to shrink again. "Pretty sure friends don't snap at each other like this."

"Sure they do, when it's important," Riley retorts. "And it's hard to do anything else when you're being such a— _shit_."

He knows he's being difficult, but that dig feels unwarranted. Especially from Riley. "Okay, think that's a bit harsh."

"No, not you—," she says frantically, her focus far from him and their stupid argument. Her eyes are torn between the road and her dashboard, and the irritation in her features is quickly shifting to panic. "It's Dave. I think something's wrong with—,"

As if on cue, the rattling from the engine grows worse. Riley glances down at her feet, and when she looks up again she's choking on her own words. She looks pale, all the color having drained from her face.

Lucas sits up, glancing around them before turning to her. "Riley. Riley, what's wrong?"

"The brake," she stammers. Her voice cracks again, fear drying out her throat and leaving her with cotton mouth. "It's not—,"

All it takes is a glance at her feet to realize her foot is on the brake, but they're not slowing. Dave is seizing up, and while it's impossible to tell exactly what's wrong it's evident that Riley is seizing up too. He's never seen her look so scared.

He doesn't know if they're going to move past this argument. He doesn't know if he's going to be in her car much longer after this, but he decides none of that matters. He's going to make it all up to her, and he's going to do it by getting them out of this situation in one piece.

"Riley, it's going to be fine," he starts, glancing over his shoulder to check for other cars. They have a fairly wide berth at the moment, but that's not going to last forever. "Just relax—,"

"Relax?" she squeaks, breathing shallow. If she wasn't clutching the steering wheel so hard, he's sure her hands would be shaking as much as her voice. "The brake isn't working! And I can barely—,"

"Okay, you're right. You're right, you don't need to relax. But you have to focus. We're going to fix the problem but you have to stay focused and not panic. Okay? Can you do that?"

After a moment, Riley nods. Still terrified, but willing to try her best. Better than nothing.

Lucas looks out the window to their right. "You need to change lanes. We're heading for the shoulder, so you need to get into the right lane."

"But we're not stopping—,"

"I know. I know, and we'll get to that. But first you need to get out of the way of other drivers." Accenting the point, another car speeds by and blares their horn, cutting them off and veering into the left lane ahead of them. Riley jumps, and Lucas fights the urge flip them the bird. "It's clear. Go."

Riley clicks on her turn signal and drifts into the right lane, an idea seeming to hit her in the midst of her panic. "Hazards?"

Lucas blinks at her, taking a moment to realize what the hell she's talking about. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." He leans forward and hits the button on the dashboard, causing their tail lights to blink. "Okay, right again. Onto the shoulder."

Riley obeys, shifting over off the main road. The car trembles violently on the grittier terrain, and while they've escaped the major issue they're still barreling down the road without the usual ability to stop with ease. Time and friction will slow them eventually, but it's unclear how long the shoulder stretches on and Lucas will be damned if they crash Dave while he's there to do something about it.

Thankfully, driver's education was one of the few classes he took seriously. And while a lot of the information was useless in the real world, the particular threat of something like this happening is one of the things he remembers most vividly.

"Okay, you're doing great," he assures her. "Now you can use the parking brake to slow down the car."

Riley turns to look at him, bewildered. Fearing he's definitely lost his mind. "What? What are you talking about?"

"If you pump the brake, it will help slow down the car. I mean, it's going to suck for your parking brake, but it'll stop us now." Lucas holds out his hand and gestures for her to follow his lead. "Trust me, okay?"

Riley locks eyes with him, weighing the risks in her head in the limited amount of time she has to make a decision. Then she nods, releasing her iron clad grip on the steering wheel to brush her hand against his. Giving him the reins to guide her in the right direction.

He doesn't waste a second, tearing his eyes from the shoulder ahead of them to direct her correctly. He takes her hand and places it against the parking brake handle while she keeps her eyes in front of them. "Just as if you were using it normally. Then off again. Keep doing that until it works."

Riley exhales through her lips, slowing her breathing as she attempts to slow their trajectory. After a minute or so of listening to the parking brake click in and out of gear, grinding against the gravel beneath them, the world starts to come back into focus around them. The trees cease to be a blur and take shape again. Dave rattles less aggressively and shifts into exhausted whines.

"You've got it," Lucas exhales, relieved smile ghosting over his face. He shifts his attention back to her and places a hand over hers on the brake, patting it reassuringly. "Riley, you did it. It's okay."

Finally, the car grinds to a halt. Riley's strung up tight like a spring, unable to move and still trying to remember how to breathe. Figuring she's going to need a moment, Lucas reaches across the median and pulls the key from the ignition.

"Oh my God," Riley chokes out, screwing her eyes shut.

Lucas thinks about doing something to comfort her. He thinks about it, but he doesn't even know what he would do, and he doubts it would be very welcome considering they were yelling at each other no more than ten minutes ago. So he opts to make himself useful instead, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Can you pop the hood?"

Riley nods blankly, bending over to hit the switch.

Lucas pulls himself out of the vehicle and jogs around to the front of the car, checking for any obvious damage from the exterior. With a faulty brake and dying engine, he's honestly amazed the tires didn't blow too. If Dave was going to pull a stunt like this and fall apart at the seams, he could've at least gone all the way through with it.

When he reaches forward to pull open the hood, he can tell from the acrid stench that what he finds isn't going to be good.

"Riley?" She lifts her head, gazing at him through the dashboard window. "Do you have a Triple A card?"

"Um, yes," she says, blinking and stretching towards the glove compartment. "I think so."

Lucas props open the hood and frowns, confirming his own diagnosis. They won't be going anywhere without a little help. "Call the number."

While Riley is on the phone with roadside assistance, Lucas digs through his backpack for his notepad. He perches himself on the trunk, jotting down as much information for the responder as he can about what they experienced and what he observed. He has the feeling Riley isn't going to be much help, still shell-shocked from the mishap. Understandably so—she's spent a lot less time on the road than him.

He can't imagine what might have happened if he wasn't there. He doesn't want to imagine it.

"Okay, yeah," Riley says, voice deceptively chipper for the person on the other end of the line. She wanders her way over to him as she finishes the call, nodding. "Yes, we'll be here. Thank you so much."

The moment she hangs up, the pleasant façade dissolves and she's fragile again. She clears her throat, stuffing her phone in her back pocket and twisting her fingers.

Her tone is quiet when she speaks. "They'll be here in about fifteen minutes."

"Okay."

Riley nods, trying her hardest to keep it together. But she doesn't last long, exhaling a heavy sigh and bringing her hands up to her face.

"God, that was so scary."

"It's okay," Lucas says with a frown. There's an ache in his chest when he looks at how shaken she is, tingling across his shoulders and propelling him into action. He hops off the back of the car and comes to stand next to her. "Riley, breathe. Everything worked out. You did great."

Riley pulls her hands down, locking them together tightly. She exhales shakily, keeping her gaze on her feet. She's nodding, but he doesn't think she's really listening.

"Riley. Riley, look at me." He takes her shoulders and keeps her stable, dipping his head down to meet her eyes. He speaks as earnestly as he can manage, sliding his hands down to rub her arms instead. "I know it was scary, but you did it. You survived. We're fine."

She holds his gaze, lip trembling and eyes glimmering with tears.

"You did great. You did everything right."

Her face scrunches into a frown and before he knows it she's falling into him, wrapping her arms around his torso tightly and bursting into tears.

This doesn't feel at all like a clean slate. He's frozen in her grip, stuck on the fact that she's so vulnerable and she's not supposed to be this close. No one is supposed to get this close.

And yet, here she is. Choosing to keep him close, knowing he's on fire but choosing him anyway. Looking at the inferno and seeing warmth instead of destruction. Holding onto it like it's the thing that's going to keep her alive.

"It's okay," he murmurs into her hair. He's not certain whether he's saying it for her sake or his own. "It's going to be okay."

Lucas returns the embrace, securing his arms around her shoulders and keeping them steady. Offering the warmth, for as long as she needs it.

* * *

"Yeah, it's not looking great," the mechanic decrees when he returns from the garage where Dave is hidden away, returning to the desk where Lucas is waiting. His uniform has _Harley_ stitched into the chest pocket. "You said this heap has been on the road since _California_?"

"As far as I'm aware, yes."

Harley whistles, making a face. "It's a miracle you all made it this far without trouble. There's a whole lot going with the engine, parts just about rusted and ready to pop off. And now the parking brake is going to need some love—,"

"Can you fix it?" Lucas asks. He knows Dave is a bit of a fixer-upper—he doesn't need the laundry list of just how badly. He just needs to know if they're going to be able to continue their journey, or if he's going to be helping Riley arrange a flight back to New York.

"Oh, we can fix it," Harley assures him, leaning forward on his elbows against the counter. "It's just gonna take some time and a whole lot of money. If you really think that hunk of junk is worth fixing."

Lucas glances over his shoulder, searching for Riley in the midst of other waylaid travelers. "How long will it take?"

"Couple days. Might be able to rush job it, with a little extra motivation."

Lucas feels his face fall. It's not his place to be haggling Riley's money, but even he knows that two days is an unwelcome delay. Regardless of how leisurely they've been making their way so far. "There's no way you can fix it today?"

"Kid, the work day is almost over." Harley scratches at his goatee, giving Lucas an unsympathetic look. "We got lives too, you know."

"Okay, I got it."

"And you seen the rust mobile you all brought in for us to magically fix? Transformations like that don't just happen overnight, Huckleberry baboon."

Lucas holds up his hands in surrender. "I got it! Let me talk to my friend. I'll let you know what we decide as soon as possible."

"Tick tock," he sneers, nodding towards the clock on the wall behind him.

Lucas turns away from the counter, rolling his eyes. He wanders his way through the shop until he finds Riley seated behind a stack of tires, bouncing her legs anxiously and chewing her lip. Waiting for him to return and deliver the worst-case scenario.

She straightens up when she spots him, eyes wide. "Well? Can they fix him?"

Lucas tilts his head back and forth. "Yes, but not for cheap. And not today."

"That's better than nothing," Riley says with a sigh, rising to her feet. She stretches her arms out in front of her, still attempting to relieve the tension branded into her over the past couple hours. "The money isn't much of an issue, this is exactly the kind of thing my parents anticipated having to pay for. Not this bad, maybe, but they won't care about that."

"What about the wait?"

She paces, contemplative. "How long?"

"Earliest would be tomorrow evening. But that's only with what he referred to as 'extra motivation.'"

"Of course." She runs a hand through her hair, blowing out air through her lips.

He doesn't want the journey to be over. He doesn't want to say goodbye, but it would be so much simpler for her to hop onto a flight and leave him and Dave behind to face their own problems. They're both broken and not worth the stress, and Riley deserves to end this expedition with the least amount of trauma possible.

"You don't have to do it," he says, unable to stop the thought from escaping his lips.

Riley locks eyes with him, quirking an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Fix the car. I mean, all that time and energy and money… doesn't exactly seem worth it." He clears his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'm just saying if you'd rather book a flight and call it a day, that's okay too. You should do whatever is best for you. Think about it from that angle."

She seems to consider it, expression pensive as she lets her gaze linger on him. Then she shakes her head, shrugging the notion away.

"I'm not done yet," she states. She approaches him and waits for him to match her gaze, lightly poking his shoulder. "I promised you I was going to get you somewhere, and we haven't gotten there yet. So I'm not giving up quite yet."

Although he would've been fine with whatever she decided, the feeling of relief that washes over him is impossible to ignore. He laughs awkwardly and dips his head to avoid her eyes, nodding along. He hopes she doesn't notice the blush crawling up his cheeks.

Her gaze is still fixated on him, thoughtful. "I'm really glad you were there."

"You would've handled it."

"I don't know if you noticed, but I was terrified," she disagrees, laughing weakly. She tilts her head, clasping her hands together in front of her. "You were so calm, and the only reason I was able to get out of that situation unscathed. You don't have to believe it, but I know it's true. I don't want to think about what might have—,"

She doesn't finish the sentence, both of them able to fill in the blanks with their imagination on their own. Instead, she lowers her gaze before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

When she steps back, her eyes are twinkling again. But there's a gravity to her expression that he can't quite place. "Thank you."

There's no way she can't see the flush in his cheeks considering how warm they are. He clears his throat and nods, offering a tight smile in lieu of having the ability to form coherent thought.

She lets out another sigh, crossing her arms and looking around them again. "Well, if we are stuck here for the night, then I guess we have another problem. I didn't think we were going to stop here, and I don't know where we're going to stay. I could try and get a last minute reservation, but—,"

"Actually," Lucas interrupts, an idea forming in his mind. He doesn't know what reminds him of the possibility, but for once he feels as though he might be the one with the solution. "I think I might have an option. Where are we again?"

"North Carolina. Near Wilmington, I think." She squints at him, curiosity lighting up her features. "What are you thinking?"

Her number is one of the only ones he knows off the top of his head, committed to memory just in case of a situation just like this. He doesn't know if she's still in the area or if she moved again, or if she'll even remember who he is. But it's the only plan he has, and he figures he's not in a position to pass up potential help. Especially if it keeps Riley from stressing any more than she already has.

"Can I borrow your phone? I need to make a call." She hands it over without question. "Go and talk to the mechanic, let him know we'll want the pick-up tomorrow evening. I'll see what I can do."

Although she seems reluctant to leave him she nods, squeezing his wrist before stepping around him and heading towards the counter. Lucas waits for her to go before finding a corner that gives him the illusion of privacy, dialing the number and hoping he memorized it correctly. Hoping that against all odds, the universe grants him this one favor.

Naturally, she doesn't pick up. He's calling from an unfamiliar number, and no one answers what could be junk mail with caller ID these days. So he holds his breath and waits until the message system beeps, giving him one chance to make his case.

"Hi, it's Lucas Friar. From Cedar Valley. I know it's been ages, but you said I could call you if I ever needed a favor. Well…" He exhales. "I think it's time to cash it in. If you're still in North Carolina and get this message, please call me back at this number. Okay, bye."

He hangs up, feeling like his grand attempt at saving the day turned out to be somewhat lackluster. All he did was leave a message, and who knows what good that is going to do.

Riley rejoins him, eyeing him expectantly. "Any luck?"

He opens his mouth to explain when suddenly the phone vibrates in his hand—someone returning his call. The number that flashes on the screen is the one burned into his memory, and he's so shocked they're actually calling back that he almost forgets how to answer the phone.

"Hello? Yeah, it's me." He laughs bashfully, clearing his throat and shuffling his feet. "Yeah, I know it's been a while. I'm doing okay."

Riley is watching him with rapt attention, fascinated and obviously intrigued as to whether this is going to be any help. Lucas meets her eyes, so distracted with how intently she's gazing at him that he barely registers anything he's hearing on the other end of the line.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's it." He hesitates. "How out of your way would it be for you to come to Wilmington? We're in a bit of a pickle."

* * *

An hour or so later, Lucas's rescue pulls up in the form of a burgundy minivan. A tall, familiar redhead emerges from the driver's side and offers him a smile, removing her chunky sunglasses and exhaling a sigh.

Then, she marches over and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug.

He's certainly receiving a lot of unnecessary affection today. But with how long it's been since he's seen Rachel McGuire, he figures maybe she's earned the embrace.

"Lucas Friar," she declares, squeezing him tightly. When she pulls back to get a better look at him, her expression is sprinkled with admiration that he can only describe as maternal. She jostles his shoulders lightly, grin so impossibly bright it's hard not mirror it back. "Look at you! How long has it been?"

It's strange, how he's suddenly shy in her presence. He supposes genuine fondness will do that to a person. "About three years, I reckon."

"Three years," she repeats, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't believe it's been that long since I was in Texas. I can't believe you remembered I was moving out here. And what on Earth are you doing all the way on the east coast? Or, how, to start?"

The question breaks him out of the haze of reunion and reminds him of the reason he made the call in the first place. He searches for Riley, glancing over his shoulder until he finds her half-hidden behind him. She's watching the exchange in awe, dumbstruck by the familiarity with which Rachel interacts with him.

It's a rare occurrence, so she should enjoy it. He steps back a bit to allow her into view, gesturing in her direction. "Rachel, this is Riley. She's my—,"

"I'm just—,"

They exchange a look, both uncertain how to finish the sentence. Rachel takes Riley in, eyeing their tacit debate with interest and raising her eyebrows.

"She's my friend," Lucas says, settling for the simplest version. After the day they've had, saying anything less complimentary doesn't seem fair.

"I'm the glorified driver is all." Riley takes the cue and steps up to greet her, holding her hand out and offering her usual cheery smile. "It's nice to meet you. I didn't realize Lucas had family out here."

Rachel laughs, happily shaking her hand. "Oh, well, we're not exactly family. Not by blood, at least."

Riley's nose crinkles. It's admittedly a little amusing, observing as she continues to attempt to arrange the clues of his life in a way that makes sense. "Then how do you know each other?"

"I know, I know. How do a twenty-something boy drifter and a spastic disaster in her late thirties form a friendship, right?" She gives Lucas a fond smile, nudging his shoulder playfully. "I like to think we were going through a mid-life crisis at the same time. Well, maybe quarter-life crisis. For him, at least."

"Still going through it," he jokes, earning another laugh.

Riley is clearly still confused, but the bewildered smile on her face indicates she's not opposed to this turn of events.

"He used to mow my lawn and walk my dogs now and then when I lived in Texas. He was always looking for—well, come on, we can continue this conversation on the drive. Are these your only bags?"

Rachel helps them load their things into the back of her van. Riley forfeits the passenger seat to Lucas and hops into the back, more than willing to be a passive observer for a majority of the trip to wherever they're headed next.

On the route back to Rachel's house, she entertains Riley with the story of how she and Lucas came to know one another in the first place. How he was looking for odd jobs when he was early into his days on the road, and when he stumbled into the Cedar Valley area there were plenty of upper middle-class families looking for a scrappy teenager to mow their lawns and do other menial household tasks.

"You know, lots of manual labor nonsense that the middle-class elite of Texas are too good to do on their own." She glances through the rear view mirror, winking at Riley. "Explains the tan and those nice arms, right?"

Lucas wishes he could sink into the upholstery and disappear. Riley's beaming, doing her best to hold back a giggle. "Oh, yeah."

Rachel was one of the few people who bothered to actually question what Lucas was doing wandering around doing odd jobs at his age. After a couple of weeks of weighing the pros and cons, she invited him inside for lemonade and tried to figure out his story. As far as the details go she had about as much luck as Riley, but she did provide Lucas with a sanctuary he sorely needed in the early months of striking out on his own. He doesn't know what he would've done without her, and if he's being honest with himself Rachel is probably the closest thing he's had to a mother since he left his actual one behind on the strip.

But she had her own demons to battle, and the war took her and her daughter out of Texas when her less-than-charming husband took things too far. Even though she clearly had bigger problems to deal with, before she left she made a point of giving Lucas her number and assuring him that if he ever needed her, for anything, he shouldn't hesitate to call.

He held onto that number in his head for years, figuring he would never have to use it. That he'd never see her again, that she'd just be another ghost from his past that let him disappear into the dust-covered roadways.

But when he made the call, she came without question. Keeping her word when it feels like everyone else in his life is incapable of doing so—even himself.

Another good person he'll never be able to fully repay.

* * *

When they pull into Rachel's driveway, it's a bit disarming to be back in suburbia. They're parked in front of a quaint and charming single family home, flowers in the bed under the window and a mailbox with the little red flag on the curb. The moment they step out of the vehicle the front door opens and an excited Labrador bounds towards them, the young girl who steps out after it eyeing them curiously from the doorway.

Lucas immediately brightens as the dog rushes to him, gladly accepting the way it leaps up to smack him in the torso and barks right in his face. "Bunny! Hey girl, how are you? It's so good to see you too, how are you?"

Riley steps up behind him as he lowers himself into a crouch, allowing the Labrador to lick his face. "Bunny?"

"The kid named her," Rachel explains briefly, nodding towards the pre-teen standing on the stoop. "Speaking of, Esther! Don't just stand there and gawk at us, come help us unload!"

Lucas rises back to his feet as Esther makes her way unassumingly down the walkway, casting shy glances in his direction the closer she gets. It's strange to see her, as she's grown far more in the last three years than either him or her mother. There's not much of a difference between nineteen and twenty-three, but the gap between ten and thirteen feels momentous. He can remember, since it wasn't so long ago that he was going through it himself.

He offers her a light smile, wondering if she even remembers him. "Hi, Esther."

"Hi, Lucas," she responds timidly, ducking behind the car and out of sight to help with bags.

Riley sidles up to his side, bumping against him when Bunny runs into her legs and sends her off-balance. She watches Rachel and Esther chatter, shifting her gaze to him over his shoulder. "She seems nervous."

"Well, yeah, her mom just let a drifter back into her house." Lucas gives her a teasing look. "That's the reaction normal people have."

Riley rolls her eyes, crinkling her nose. "I think she thinks you're cute."

She doesn't give him the chance to retort, skipping ahead of him and following their hosts into the house.

Rachel helps them get situated, convening outside the spare bedroom and discussing their options.

"This is the only spare we have, but it should be big enough for the two of you if you opt to hack it that way." She glances back and forth between the two of them, evidently still attempting to get a read on their dynamic. Lucas wishes her luck, because he doesn't even understand it at the moment. "We also have the couch downstairs, which with a couple of throw blankets and a mighty dose of Nyquil is just as comfortable."

Riley looks to Lucas, searching his expression for how they should proceed. He hesitates, glancing at the double bed behind her before electing to make the smart decision. It's about time he did.

"I'll take the couch. I'm sure it'll be far more comfortable than what I'm used to."

He can feel Riley bristle indignantly beside him, but Rachel cuts her off before she can argue. "Sounds like a plan to me. Think I'll get started on dinner, I'm sure you all are starving after the day you've had. Spaghetti and meatballs sound objectionable?"

"That sounds perfect," Riley says gratefully. "Thank you."

"Lovely. Lucas, you know you better come help me if you want your fair share." Rachel tosses a glance to Riley as he nods agreeably, leading the way back down the stairs. "Amazing, how much boys can eat, isn't it?"

"Oh, I think he could use it," she replies cheekily, matching Lucas's glare with a smirk. He doesn't get the chance to respond, Rachel nudging him down the stairs and giving Riley the victory by forfeit.

* * *

Considering how long he's gone without it, it's a bit of an adjustment to suddenly be mothered again.

Rachel insists on doing a load of laundry for both of them, showing Riley where the machines are and assuring her that all of their detergent is hers to use. When she goes through Lucas's travel bag and discovers the abysmal lack of variety he has at his disposal, she drags him upstairs to her room and goes through every ounce of clothing she has left over from the divorce that he may be able to keep for himself.

"You don't have to do this," Lucas tries to say.

"As if they're getting any use tucked away in the closet. Rick may have been useless, but at least we can do some good with the things he left behind." She waves him off, retrieving a cozy blue flannel from the box on the floor and holding it up as if to imagine it on him. Then she tosses it at him. "You like blue, right? Go try that on."

Dinner is somewhat awkward at first, with Esther refusing to make eye contact with him and Riley certainly acting as the stranger in town. But she's undeniably charming—Lucas knows this better than anyone, he feels—and within a few minutes she and Rachel are deep in conversation while happily scarfing down pasta. She even manages to get a few words out of Esther, by some miracle.

Suffice to say, by the time he's getting ready for bed with an actually full stomach and a soft new pair of sweats, Lucas has to admit that maybe the car breaking down wasn't the worst thing that could've happened to them. It reunited him with an old friend, and it pushed him to open up and ask for help when he likely wouldn't have before all of this.

Sometimes, maybe there's something to be gained from falling apart. If you break down and assess the situation, maybe you can put yourself back together in better shape than you were before.

It's quite the revelation to have while lying on the carpet and petting a dog for about an hour straight. And while he could easily sit there with Bunny for another hour more, he knows he has to go start making things right. He has to start assessing the damage.

Lucas pads his way up the stairs, moving quietly as to not disturb Esther who he's fairly sure is already asleep in the room across the hall. When he pokes his head into the spare bedroom he's relieved to find Riley looking content as well, braiding her freshly showered hair and humming to herself.

He knocks lightly, locking eyes with her when she turns to face him. "Hey."

"Hi." The smile that drifts onto her face is light, easy. He's a bit surprised to realize the sweatshirt she's wearing is his, still holding onto it from the beach. She comes over to join him, matching his volume and speaking just above a murmur. "Was that the best spaghetti you've ever had in your life, or what?"

Lucas chuckles, nodding in agreement as he rests against the door frame. "It was pretty good. But when you're hungry—,"

"Yeah, yeah."

Riley situates herself in the doorway with him, leaning back against the frame. She twirls the end of her braid in her fingers.

"I'm sorry about earlier today."

"You're sorry?" Lucas raises his eyebrows. "I don't know what for."

"Don't get me wrong, you were definitely being a jerk," she assures him. He drops his jaw in faux offense and she can't help but grin, lightly punching him on the arm. "But I said some stuff, too. And I never meant to put you on the spot, or anything."

He knows that now. It didn't feel like it at the time, but he knows in this case the issue doesn't lie with her. His fear of being vulnerable, even to the smallest degree, is his own hill to climb.

"I just want you to know… I hear you," she says slowly, gently touching his hand. "I see you and whenever you're ready—if you're ever ready to talk—I'm here to listen. That's all I really wanted you to know."

Lucas doesn't know if he'll ever be able to talk about it. He doesn't want to make her any promises. But looking into her eyes, being close in a way he's never been with anyone else before, he doesn't think it's out of the question anymore.

For the first time, he thinks maybe he could.

The words come out barely above a whisper, but he wants her to hear them. He wants her to know he understands. "I know."

Riley's smile is the softest it's ever been. Her fingers linger on his skin, and after a moment her gaze falls down to his lips before she dips her head down to look at the floor. When she lifts it again, the smile is gone, and her expression has shifted into something more thoughtful.

"You don't have to stay on the couch," she says softly. She pauses, swallowing before finding the rest of her words. "There's plenty of room here with me."

Objectively that's not the whole truth, but the offer is tempting. Not just the promise of an actual bed, but the promise of her, soft-featured and open and willing to listen if he's willing to share. Much like he felt on the beach, there's an unmistakable sense of gratitude choking up his lungs and pulling him all too easily in her direction.

But he's not there yet. As much as he'd like to be, he thinks the smartest move is to call it a night and let bygones be bygones without incidentally creating new ones. Clean slate or not. Besides, something about the potential feels uncouth, given that they're here out of the courtesy of Rachel and her daughter sleeping just down the hall.

"I think I'll be okay," Lucas finally states, giving her a smile to reiterate the point. "You get some rest, though. Long day and everything."

"Yeah," she agrees. But she doesn't make any moves to step away from him.

Lucas takes the initiative first, despite how surprisingly difficult it is. He pulls away from the doorway and gives her one last nod, exchanging goodnights and heading downstairs before he does something stupid and breaks his all too brief streak of making smart decisions.

Rachel is still awake when he returns to the first floor, catching his eye from the kitchen and gesturing him to join her. "Was wondering where you fluttered off to. Thought maybe you changed your mind about the couch after all."

"No, not tonight," he says, although it does make him a bit uneasy at how simple it seems to be for her to read the situation. Though Rachel has always been that way, and it's done him more good in his life than bad. "Besides, someone needs to keep Bunny company."

As if on cue, the family cat Baby traipses into the room, rubbing against Lucas's legs and meowing pointedly.

Rachel snorts, nodding down at her. "Yeah, looks like you'll be plenty appreciated tonight. Kiss ups." She focuses on the kettle she has going on the stove, gesturing him towards the small kitchen table. "Take a seat. I'm just finishing up this hot chocolate."

"Well, you know I'm not going to say no to that."

Rachel grins, prepping two mugs. "You think I'd forget one of the only things I could convince that silly lawn mower kid to drink? That and grilled cheese were the only holy rations, if I remember correctly. Think I spent more on bread and cheese that year than I ever did before."

She joins him at the table, sliding one mug over to him and taking a sip of her own. The two of them sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the hot drinks while Lucas ruminates over how nice it is to be in a place that feels so secure. Rooted.

"You're doing pretty well for yourself," he says, absorbing the family photos of Rachel and a younger Esther on the walls. "Guess North Carolina was the right decision."

Rachel hums. "You wouldn't believe how much a change of scenery will do for you. Not to mention leaving behind the toxic elements."

He knows what goes without saying. Although he doesn't know the details much in the way she doesn't know his, he's well aware of the fact that her ex didn't treat her all that well. Being as far away from him as possible is the best thing that could've happened for her and Esther.

"Esther seems good too," he comments. "Whip smart, from what I heard at dinner."

"You would not believe how shocked she was when I brought you home." Rachel chuckles to herself, reliving the memory. "She went on and on about how I didn't give her fair warning and she didn't even get to do her hair and whatever other nonsense."

"To be honest, I figured she didn't remember me from the cold shoulder she was giving me."

"Forget you, Lucas Friar?" Rachel scoffs, shaking her head like it's the maddest idea in the world. "Now you're just being silly."

Lucas smiles, focusing back on his hot chocolate for the sake of avoiding any more compliments. He's blushed enough over the course of the day for whatever forsaken reason, he's pretty sure he doesn't have enough blood running through him to sustain such a pattern.

Rachel breaks the silence after a couple of minutes. "Gotta wonder though, how it is you managed to get all the way out here."

"Riley," he says, as if that explains everything.

Her lips curl into a smirk. "Oh, believe me, I got that part. She is darling, isn't she? Mighty kind of her to give you a ride without so much as a second glance."

"Believe me, I know it."

Rachel pauses, tapping her nails against the tabletop between them. "What I really meant is I'm wondering why you're here now, all things considered. You've spent the last five years milling around the expanse of Texas without seriously making the push to break free. I have a hard time believing the decision rests on her shoulders alone."

When he thinks back to the last day he was on the strip, the last time he'll ever see Asher and Vanessa and the decrepit roadway he once called home, he remembers in an instant what changed for him. It's the thing he's been attempting to forget ever since he left—the way Asher looked him in the eyes with the most crushing kind of pity and told him about Pappy Joe.

He doesn't want to think about it. As if the way things unfolded today unlocked some sort of chain keeping his emotions in check, the mere thought of his grandfather and how poorly he messed things up elicits that pain in his throat and steals the words right off his tongue. It's grief, plain and simple, and he's been running from it and the guilt that comes with it from the moment he climbed into Riley's hatchback to escape.

Rachel can sense that whatever it is, it's got him conflicted. She can read it all over him, so she drops the subject for the moment and shifts gears. "You know what I couldn't believe most when I saw you standing outside that repair shop?"

"That I was still alive and not dead in a ditch?"

"No. And don't you get sassy on me," she quips. She leans forward and props her elbows on the table, examining him with her bright eyes. "I could not believe that the lost boy I left behind in Texas, wondering if he was going to turn out alright, was the strong, poised man waiting for me in North Carolina. It's stunning, how far you've come."

Vulnerability must be contagious, because it's not just Pappy Joe's ghost that's provoking the ache in his throat. He averts his gaze, staring down at the hot chocolate and blinking the moisture out of his eyes before he does something totally stupid.

"I'm still lost."

"Maybe. But then, maybe not." Rachel narrows her eyes. "I think you're a lot less aimless than you've convinced yourself you are. Far from perfect, obviously, but not beyond repair. And if you are in fact the same punk who used to walk Bunny and mow the lawn, then I know you are more than capable of figuring out exactly where you're supposed to be. Well on your way there, in fact."

Lucas feels tears prick the corner of his eyes, wiping at them hastily. He clears his throat to cover the moment but Rachel doesn't seem concerned with the display of emotion, reaching across the table to cover his hands in both of her own.

"When I saw you outside that repair shop, I couldn't help but think—well, it _is_ Lucas Friar." She gives him a warm smile, pride shining through her expression. He's not at all familiar with that one. "And it looks like he's going to be just fine."

* * *

 **A/N:** It's been exactly a month since I last updated (chilling...), but happy new year y'all! Hope your 2019 is kicking off swimmingly.

So, WHEW. Lots to pick apart there, but I mostly just wanted to shout about how I'm so EXCITED RACHEL IS HERE! Even if for a brief time. I've had her cameo planned since I first started the story, so it was nice to finally... get there.

Which brings me to my main point - we're officially halfway through this shebang and technically more than halfway through the road trip. There's a lot left in store but the fact that I have even made it this far is wild to me, so I wanted to thank y'all for taking the journey with me. It means a lot, believe me.

Anyway, you know the usual business! Feel free to comment or come bother me and cry about them (because I always am), and otherwise have a handy dandy okey-dokey week. Yeehaw!


	9. natural disasters ( riley )

Too fast. Everything is moving too fast.

Riley's fingers ache from how tightly she's gripping the steering wheel. Dave is rumbling along the roadway, nothing but stretches of concrete in either direction, but the scenery is passing too quickly for her to make out where she's going. No way to orient herself. Just the world cascading by in an increasingly fast blur.

She glances down to the speedometer in front of her. The arrow ticking up and to the right with each passing second.

Too fast. She needs to slow down. She needs to stop.

When she puts her foot on the brake, nothing happens. Dave doesn't even hesitate. In fact, slamming the brakes seems to have the opposite effect—she can feel the engine revving beneath her and sending her careening even more wildly down the roadway.

"It's not—," she starts, surprised by how her throat is so dry. She clears it, but it does nothing to alleviate the effect. Not responding, just like the brakes.

She knows she has to make the car stop. She can remember what she's supposed to do, the memory of something warm and supportive guiding her towards the right maneuver. But she feels disconnected from it, like a recollection that doesn't belong to her. That she was never supposed to have, a mistaken acquisition just like all her other choices.

But she knows who to ask. If anyone will know how to fix the problem, she knows it would be him. And he's been there by her side every mile since he entered her life, so she doubts he's going to let her down now.

When she turns her head to request his help, the words get caught in her throat.

The passenger seat is glaringly empty.

She wants to call out for him, to bring him back to her side, but much like the awareness of knowing what to do in this situation, her memory surrounding him is foggy. Like he's disappeared from her consciousness just as swiftly as he entered it, taking everything with him including his name.

Ice sears through her chest, an ache spreading in the pit of her stomach. She's overwhelmed with the sudden sensation that she's lost something irreplaceable, so painful to misplace that tears form in the back of her throat even though she can't even remember what is was. A nameless ghost, leaving her to deal with the danger alone.

Danger. Imminent. Immediate. Out of her control.

"Help!" she croaks, at a loss for what else to do. Abandoned and without any other options, groveling for a scrap of anything feels like her last resort. "Help, I'm—,"

"Oh, Riley, don't be so loud. There's no reason you can't dial it down a couple notches."

The passenger seat is no longer empty. Tilting her head from the road she finds the unmistakable form of her mother, polished to perfection as usual and eyeing the situation with careful consideration. Seemingly unmoved by the fact that they're barreling down the highway at horrific speed and far from able to slow themselves down.

Topanga raises an eyebrow, nodding towards the steering wheel. "Keep your eyes on the road, honey. The last place you want to let that mind of yours wander is behind the wheel."

Riley fights back her tears, even more important now that her mother is watching her. She can't seem fragile in front of her, can't let even the thinnest of cracks appear in her composed façade. The last time she let such a thing happen resulted in a full-on demolition, and although her mother witnessed the wreckage and was there to help pick up the pieces she's never treated her the same since.

When all Riley expected was a little more empathy, instead the scrutiny just seemed to intensify. As if Topanga believes if she eyes her every move, she'll be able to find which tiny part of her daughter isn't working quite right. Then she'll get it patched up and rebuild the perfect daughter she so desperately wanted.

Allowing her thoughts to drift for a second, especially to such a dark place, hasn't helped her trajectory. Riley blinks back into the moment and gasps, swerving the vehicle back onto the shoulder instead of back into four lanes of incoming traffic.

"Mom, I need you to help me," she croaks. It hurts to swallow.

Topanga sighs. Sympathetic, but in a way that makes her feel even smaller.

"Riley, I can't help you unless you help yourself first. And can you honestly tell me that you feel as though you've made all the right choices to avoid ending up in this situation?" Topanga turns her gaze to her, a particular brand of critical and condescending with the usual light smile on her face. "I mean, I'm sure if we work our way back through your decisions as of late, we can easily deduce how we got to this point."

Riley doesn't care about how she got here. What she cares about is stopping their free-wheeling joy ride before they slam into the highway dividers at more than sixty miles per hour.

"Please, I just need help—,"

"I don't know, Riles," a new, smooth baritone replaces the voice of her mother. It's a shock to hear, guiding her attention back to the passenger seat. When his blue eyes meet hers, it's like she's been thrown right back into college. "You always seemed to prefer doing things alone."

There's nothing she can say to Evan that will make his words untrue. There's nothing more she can ask of him, because the last time she needed his help—or anyone's help, for that matter—she didn't know how to ask for it. She didn't ask, and he didn't offer it when she truly needed it.

He made her feel less lonely, most of the time. But he didn't keep her from being alone.

Still too fast. When she blinks, Evan is no longer there but instead the terrified eyes of her father are staring back at her, frantically gesturing her to the road. "Riley, watch where you're going!"

Riley jerks her head back to the lane in front of her, feeling a shooting pain erupt across the back of her neck before pooling into warmth she knows can't be good. Whatever muscle she just pulled, it's not going to be the worst of it if she doesn't get this thing to stop.

But she can't think. She can't orient herself. She doesn't know if she'll ever be able to get rid of that hole in her chest that's making it hard to breathe.

"You have got to stop doing this, Riley!" Cory snaps, his tone harsh. It's not out of anger, she knows—it's out of concern, frustration born out of love, and that's almost worse than fury. "You can spiral all you want on your own time, it's your life, but what about the rest of us? Did you even think about that? Did you think about me?"

"I'm sorry." She shakes her head, trying to get her words to work correctly. "I never meant for this to happen. I don't know how—,"

"It doesn't matter how," he says curtly, waving her off. Directly contradicting her mother, making the solution more confusing to identify. "Just make it _stop_."

She wishes she could. More than anything, she wishes everything would just stop.

"Why are you doing this, Riley?"

She feels her breath catch in her throat. Allowing her gaze to drift from the road one more time, she locks eyes with her younger brother sitting in the passenger seat. All curly hair and wide eyes and an inquisitive brow that seem far more wise than she thinks he should be permitted to be.

"Why?" Auggie examines her, eyes rimmed with that same wetness from one of the last times she saw him in person. Heavy, attempting to grapple with a situation so far out of his realm of understanding. "Is it because of something I did?"

"Auggie, no," she stammers, shaking her head. She clears her throat, willing it strong enough to gift her more than a few strained words. "This has nothing to do with you. This is me. And I'm figuring out how to fix it."

He lets his eyes shift to the road careening by behind her. "Are you?"

"I'm trying. I'm trying everything I can."

"But at what point is that enough?" Topanga jumps back in, somewhere behind her in the back seat. "Do you think that's going to be enough?"

"I asked for help, and no one is helping me!"

"You wanted to be alone," Evan states.

"You've always been so good at being alone. So independent," Cory laments, struggling to figure out how they ended up in this mess.

Topanga clicks her tongue. "I should've never trusted you to be alone."

"Alone," Auggie repeats. He holds her gaze. "You were going to leave me alone."

Riley is out of words. Her throat is cracked dry, not granting her another word. She shakes her head, releasing her grip on the steering wheel with one hand to reach out for her little brother.

It's the biggest mistake she could have made.

"Riley, look out!"

She sees Auggie's whole expression twist in fear. Her eyes flit back to the road, where the end of the line seems to have appeared out of nowhere. The time to stop has come, and she's barreling uncontrollably towards it with no power to do so.

When her eyes flit back to the passenger seat, it's empty again. Echoing the sentiment that she's alone, just as her world fills with stars and the sound of metal crunching accents the way every piece of her seems to fold in on itself, collapsing the world into fragments and then infinite darkness.

* * *

The moment Dave hits the wall, Riley jumps awake with a choked gasp. She grasps for the comforter as a tether to reality, still very much wrapped in the fast-paced adrenaline of the dream.

Her heart is pounding like a kickdrum, rattling in her ribcage and threatening to explode. Her throat aches just as sharply. She feels her cheeks wet with tears, and more are already pooling in the corners of her eyes.

She's alive, the deadly crash only a nightmare. But the panic of it left behind is all too real.

Riley forces herself to sit up, cradling her head in her hands and trying to calm her breathing. It's been ages since she's had a nightmare of this shade, and never before has the threat of it felt so authentic. Usually she's able to talk herself down by picking through all of the fallacies, highlighting all of the ways the dream felt so pointedly unreal.

But this peril was not so unbelievable. Not so easy to spin herself out of the spiral.

"Come on," she whimpers, chewing on her thumbnail and screwing her eyes shut. Trying to get the image of the speeding highway out of her head, trying to forget the way everything seemed to crumble into ruin in seconds.

She's not helping herself. She can feel the tingling in her palms, the tell-tale sign that this spiral is far from over lest she come up with some magical trick to thwart the panic before it rises full force into its planned attack.

Riley throws the covers off of her, stumbling out of bed and towards the door to the hall.

When she emerges into the dark hallway, a new sense of dread takes over her muscles. For a moment, she forgets where she is and all that it's taken to get here, and she's consumed with fear at the prospect at being in an unfamiliar home. No sense of where she should go or whether she belongs there or not.

She spots the bathroom halfway down, pushing down her panic to hobble her way towards it. As she crashes through the doorway and flicks on the light, she only gets seconds to close the door behind her and flick on the ceiling fan before the terror fights back.

Her panic isn't the only thing it pushes back up. Riley drops to her knees over the toilet just in time to vomit. At the very least, she can feel grateful not to have thrown up on something irreplaceable. She'd be a pretty terrible guest otherwise.

Once the nausea subsides and bile stops making her throat burn, Riley rolls back into a sitting position and leans back against the cool porcelain of the bathtub. She pushes the stray fly-aways out of her face, thankful she tied her hair back into a braid before falling asleep.

The ceiling seems to swirl slightly above her, little black fish swimming in her vision the longer she stares at the fluorescent bulb glaring back down on her.

It had been so long since a nightmare. So long since she felt this blatantly alone.

Unable to look at the endless white of the ceiling any longer, Riley pushes herself onto her hands and knees. It's a slow rise to her full height and then a careful walk to the sink, taking the time to swish around some water to get the acrid taste out of her mouth. There's a lot she wants to think about—wants to contemplate and pick apart—but her mind is barely in working order. Logical thinking, she decides, will have to wait until tomorrow.

She can't help but notice the way her hands are trembling as she moves to turn off the faucet. They continue to as she turns out the light and steps back into the hall, eyes adjusting to the dark with each moment she lingers in the space.

Although exhaustion creeps into her muscles as the adrenaline wears off, she cannot fathom heading back to that room. Due to no fault of its own—it's quite a nice guest room, all things considered—but due to the way her chest constricts at the thought of facing that territory again. Having to lay in that bed surrounded by nothing but her thoughts.

So, so alone.

But she's not. It's what her mind tried to tell her even as the walls were caving in and the danger speeding up the world around her—that warmth and ghost of a memory that almost gave her the guidance to figure out the problem on her own.

Her eyes drift to the stairs, that same sense of warmth guiding her in that direction.

She'll simply ask him to come stay with her. Not the most logical request, certainly, but she's already deemed logic a forsaken entity of the night. He already refused the offer once, but she likes to tell herself that was more on the basis of being a gentleman than an actual desire to stay as far away from her as possible.

When she makes it to the foot of the stairs and spins to find the living room, however, the notion of such a bold move escapes her.

Lucas is asleep on the couch, tall form just able to fit comfortably within the space limitations and tucked underneath a quilt blanket she's ninety percent sure Rachel must've draped over him before heading to bed. Baby the tabby cat is asleep on his legs, the two of them resting soundly as moonlight bathes them in soft grey through the window.

She can't bring herself to do it. She knows from observation how inclined he is to have restless nights—taking this one away from him just because the tables have turned on her feels selfish. She can't wake him up just to force him to help her with her own sleeplessness.

Even still, the mere image of him sleeping so soundly eases some of the tension in her chest. The reminder that he's nearby, and he's certainly not going to leave her alone.

But then, she realizes, maybe that's all part of the problem. One of the early signs of the trouble in her nightmare was the fact that he wasn't there, and she could hardly remember a thing about him through the haze of hysteria. She's had those worries in the real world, too, the nervous thought that he'll just float right out of her life as quickly as he entered it. And without a cell phone to share, she wouldn't be able to find him again.

She can only handle one panic attack per night. She forces the thought out of her mind, closing her eyes and clenching her fists and walking herself through a deep breath. Grounding herself back to reality.

When she opens her eyes again, he's still there. As he has been since she met him.

Tentatively, she pads her way across the hardwood and approaches the couch. Bunny lifts his head from laying on his paws, eyeing her curiously from the dog bed where he appears to have been watching Baby sleep enviously with their new housemate. She gives him a timid smile as she lowers herself onto the floor, resting her side against the base of the couch and wrapping her arms around her knees.

She lets her gaze drift to Lucas again, in awe of how gentle his features are. She remembers feeling similarly when they shared a bed at the last motel, and when he dozed off on the ride to the beach. Perhaps because he carries himself with such intensity throughout the day, muted but still noticeable to anyone who took longer than a few seconds to look for it.

Here, and in those moments, the walls come down. He's safe, uninhibited, and Riley hopes that she can make him realize that he's allowed to be that way in the light of day, too. When she told him she heard him, that she wants to hear him, she meant it. She wants him to know it as confidently as she feels it.

More than anything, she hopes that he gets the same sense of comfort that she does when he's with her. The knowledge that at the end of the day—when the nightmare cuts and it is indeed just a dream—they're not alone.

Bunny's collar jingles as he rises from his spot across the room, lumbering his way over to her in interested anticipation. She can't help but smile as she reaches out to scratch him behind the ears, feeling even more secure as he settles down in front of her.

Riley props her chin on her arm, tilting her head back against the couch. She keeps her gaze on Lucas until some of the peaceful energy makes its way into her system, causing her eyes to flutter closed. One hand scratching Bunny's belly, the other gripping tight to her knee to keep everything from folding in on itself again.

* * *

When Riley comes around at a more reasonable hour, it's as if she didn't sleep at all. Unsurprising, considering she only got about an hour of rest when she dozed off in front of the couch before she jolted awake and crept back upstairs to wait out the rest of the night. Although being in the presence of Lucas and their current animal companions did ease her nerves, she figured he wouldn't appreciate waking up to find her so close without a warning. It takes enough caution to enter his personal space when he's fully conscious.

She sits up with a groan, rubbing her face and willing the headache tapping behind her eyes to disappear. With the sunlight permeating the room the shadows don't feel as intimidating, but the questions and decisions from the night don't gain any clarity.

Although, she supposes, the reason the nightmare seemed to reappear out of the blue does have a logical explanation. Despite how well she likes to believe she's handling it, the near-death experience she endured with Dave could probably be considered a traumatic event. It makes sense that coming so close to serious danger would trigger some of those old memories and fears to jump back to the forefront of her mind, albeit subconsciously. Especially given the context of her nightmare this time around, it definitely makes sense.

Whether she wants to admit it to herself or not, that stalled brake could've done more damage than just roughing up her car. If Lucas hadn't been there, she might not still be here.

Lucas is the piece that remains confusing. While comprehending her feelings about him has always been an unexpected challenge, adding the layers of heroism to it doesn't help matters. Even before last night she'd been grappling with how easy it felt to get lost in him, how badly she wanted to figure every part of him out, how she found herself drifting closer to him in any given moment like some sort of gravitational pull. What does it say about them that he's been the only thing able to pull her out of impending panic, both in the car on the brink of disaster and in the middle of a sleepless night?

She keeps trying to apply logic to him, to whatever relationship they share now, and the truth of the matter is it can't be done. The two of them defy logic, and maybe that makes her foolish or impractical, but at this point she doesn't care. She's always been imaginative, a romantic, all traits that her mother considered weaknesses rather than assets—so why should she change her tune now? Her desire to explore the unknown, to uncover just how foolishly and impractically deep their growing connection can go, is far stronger than her aversion to the illogical.

Still, maybe a third party opinion would be some help. One last search for sanity before she goes full-tilt into Rileytown.

There's only one person she can even think of talking to about the situation. Her lack of discussing it up to this point shouldn't be so odd when one considers the fact that she can name the people she trusts on one hand, and the number of people who she would actually talk about something so crazy is basically down to one finger.

She pulls herself out of bed and jogs over to close her bedroom door, feigning getting ready for a semblance of privacy. Then she grabs her phone from the side table, dialing their number and pacing the floor as the phone rings pointedly in her ear.

Just as she's considering giving up—she must be annoying her, after all—her friend picks up.

"Hello? Riley?"

Riley lets out a sigh of relief, crossing her arms and smiling. "Jade. Hi."

"Hi, is everything okay?" She hears rustling on the other end. "You're not calling me because you're trapped in a ditch or something are you? Did you crash? Call 9-1-1—,"

"No, no, I'm fine. Had some close calls, I'll admit, but I'm all good. What makes you assume that's the only reason I'd call?"

There's a pause. "Well, it is like five in the morning."

Riley grimaces, muttering a cuss under her breath. She had completely forgotten about the time change.

"Shit," she exhales, immediately itchy with guilt. "I'm so sorry, Jade. I didn't even think about that. Traveling so much, time is sort of like, fake—,"

"It's okay, seriously," Jade assures her. She's always been Riley's most understanding friend, once again making her regret taking so long to actually focus on their friendship rather than getting lost in the weeds of everything else. "But you can see why I had to assume the worst."

"Yeah, that makes sense."

"So, what, then?" She can imagine Jade's inquisitive eyebrow raise perfectly. Quiet as she might be, she has a sharp bullshit detector. As annoying as it could be, it did come in handy during their last year of college. "Am I really supposed to believe you're calling this early to tell me about your journey across the prairies of middle America?"

Riley releases a sigh, flopping back against the bed. "No, I guess you wouldn't."

"I don't," Jade confirms. "So what happened?"

She doesn't even know where to begin. And now that she's put herself in the position of talking about it, she doesn't know how to even broach the topic of her car companion without sounding completely insane.

"You have to promise not to judge me. And not to laugh or… question my sanity. Or call my mother."

"Never," she responds, as if the latter is even a question. "But now you're kind of freaking me out. Riley, what's going on?"

Another pause, just long enough for Riley to piece together a sampling of her conflicted thoughts. "You know how people sometimes pick up hitchhikers, right?"

Once she gets started, it's surprisingly hard to _stop_ talking about Lucas Friar. She gives Jade the full story—how she ran into him, how stupid the decision seemed at the time but how many times over its paid off in the last couple of weeks. She explains the Applebee's treachery, the lessons, their brief stint with the heir to Minkus International. She can't seem to stop talking about all the things she likes about him—his soft-spoken nature, his complex combination of bashful and defensive, his tendency to jump to her defense whether it's against the distrustful Applebee's staff or a broken suspension system careening them down the highway.

She attempts to explain the mystery surrounding him, all the questions she doesn't know the answers to and the pieces that don't add up. The napkin phone number, the odd behavior at the gas station, the evasion of touch and how all of it seems to be safely hidden away under years of practiced self-defense and a protective layer of denim. She tries to paint an accurate picture without raising alarm or sharing something that feels like it isn't hers to share, which turns out to be more complicated than expected with how intertwined their narratives seem to have become over the course of the trip.

When she finally reaches present day and her current uncertain terrain, her throat hurts from talking so much. In her heart, though, she knows she could've talked for an hour more. She feels like she's only scratched the surface.

Jade is silent for a long moment, evidently processing all that she's been told. "You've been traveling with this guy for days? Sharing rooms and stuff?"

Riley is grateful that if Jade is judging her, it doesn't show in her tone. "Yep."

"And he didn't kill you? Or make any obvious attempts to do so?"

"Not yet, no. At this point I've sort of ruled that an unlikely possibility."

She hums thoughtfully. "And he's never made you feel uncomfortable? Like, have you felt unsafe? And be honest."

"No." How quickly Riley is able to answer the question speaks enough for itself. She rolls onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "And that's what's so weird about it, if anything I feel safer when he's around. Like I'll be honest, J, traveling the country by yourself is not the most relaxing endeavor."

"Let alone as a woman. No, I believe you."

"But it's like after the first couple of days of adjusting to one another, he's definitely made this trip infinitely better. Easier. And I've never felt uncomfortable around him, especially considering like I said, I'm usually the one inevitably putting us in close quarters. He's not short of chivalry, I can assure you of that."

" _Where have all the good men gone_ ," Jade muses, sing-song. She hesitates, formulating her next question. "I mean, what do you want from me, exactly? What do you want me to say?"

A fair question. Riley shrugs, pushing herself into a sitting position. "I don't know, honestly. Permission to be an idiot? Confirmation that I'm not crazy?"

"Well, I can't give you that, we both know you're bonkers. But you've always been that way, it's one of my favorite things about you."

Riley smiles in spite of herself. "Well, thank you."

"But you're not an idiot. And I don't know, I mean, if you're telling me the truth and he hasn't been problematic or given any obvious indication that he's dangerous… what am I supposed to say? Stop having a fun road trip with this seemingly awesome guy you befriended on the side of the road?" She huffs. "Especially when you've already crossed the line and kissed him once."

"Twice."

"Wait, seriously?" Jade's voice indicates how wide her eyes must be. "You've kissed more than once? You didn't tell me that part."

Her cheeks are suddenly warm. She shrugs awkwardly. "The first time was the lesson thing. The second time was… well, I didn't exactly anticipate it."

"And you still feel comfortable after that. That didn't freak you out."

She shrugs again. "If anything, I was more disappointed that he pulled back. I know that sounds insane."

"It does," Jade admits. But she doesn't seem overly concerned, which Riley counts as a good sign. "I mean, is he cute?"

Yes. Undeniably. Extremely. Excruciatingly. "I'm not dignifying that with a response."

"I know it's subjective, but I think that's what you should really be concerned about. If you're probably going to throw yourself deeper into this rabbit hole anyway. Can I get a picture?"

"Jade."

"Look, Riley," she says with a laugh. Riley can hear the exhaustion creeping back into her voice, indicating this call likely isn't going to last much longer. "You might be crazy, but your instincts are sharper than anyone I know. If this situation presented any actual danger, I'm sure you would've sussed it out by now."

Although she had figured out that much for herself, it is a relief to hear someone else say it. She nods, before remembering that Jade can't see it. "Right."

"If you're looking for like, my blessing or whatever… sure. You have my blessing to follow your gut, and trust that regardless of what else unfolds. This has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. You've spent so much of your life following the gospel of others, that yeah, it's going to be scary to follow your own. Especially in a situation like this, which does have a lot of… grey areas as far as societal acceptance."

"Trust me, I'm well aware."

"Good. As long as you know that, and you're listening to yourself and not letting anyone else's perception color your decisions… then go forth. Do whatever you're going to do, just do it with the confidence that you're doing what feels right to you."

It's odd to think about, but she knows that her friend is onto something. This road trip is one of the first things she's ever done on her own, driven by her own ambition and decisiveness. Being open to possibilities with Lucas is the next big decision, and to be fair it feels much grander and more important than a cross-country trip.

But the ball is in her court. She has the power to decide how things unfold, and it's up to her to wield that power. Everything else is just white noise.

"I'll do my best." She feels a sudden ache in her chest, hit with the realization of how sincerely she appreciates her best friend. "Thank you, Jade. Seriously, thanks."

"Of course. Any time. And I still want a picture. In return for my early morning efforts."

Riley rolls her eyes. "I'll consider it." She hesitates. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, girlie," Jade assures her, and warmth spreads through her. How nice it is, the reassurance that you're an irreplaceable piece in someone else's world. "I can't wait to hear about the rest of your trip. We'll talk soon, I'm sure. Just maybe not at six in the morning."

"Deal," Riley laughs. "Talk to you later."

"Nighty night," she says distantly, obviously well on her way back to bed. Riley grins as Jade ends the call, clasping her phone in her hand and pressing it to her chin.

Now that the uncertainty has faded, she's filled with an entirely new emotion. Anticipation pricks at her nerves and propels her with a unique kind of electricity as she gets ready for the day, much more enthusiastic about what the future holds than she was when she woke up.

When she descends the stairs and reenters the main floor, she's a bit surprised to find Lucas still asleep. He looks just as restful as he did hours earlier only now Bunny has joined the cuddle, half-sprawled on top of him with his head laying contently against his torso. Baby still holds court on Lucas's legs, keeping one eye open to watch Bunny warily.

The view is endearing in the deepest way possible. Riley can't help but grin, glued to the spot and fully aware of the butterflies that have taken up residency in her stomach.

"Isn't it so funny?" Rachel says from behind her, directing her attention to the kitchen. She's brewing herself a cup of coffee, auburn hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. "The way they're smothering him you'd think we're neglectful pet owners. I promise we're not, he's just got a quality about him or something."

She feels like she knows that quality all too well. She's likely a victim of it herself.

"I won't argue with you there," Riley says genially. She saunters to the bottom of the steps. "To be honest, I'm surprised he isn't awake yet. We've been doing a lot of early mornings on the road, so I guess I just assumed he was an early riser."

Rachel snorts, nodding. "He can be, but not by choice. At least, if he's the same as he was a few years ago. I don't know, I feel like it's a guy thing. But if we don't bother him, my bet is he'll crash there until noon. Especially with Bunny and Baby enabling him like that." She gestures Riley into the kitchen, nodding towards the table. "Can I get you anything? How did you sleep? That bed in the guest room can be too soft for some people—,"

"It was perfect," Riley assures her, taking her directive and stepping onto the tile flooring. She opts not to mention the nightmare or the time she spent on the floor of the bathroom—all that certainly isn't the fault of the bed in any case. "Decaf?"

Rachel grins, raising her mug indicatively. "Fresh pot. Help yourself to however much you need."

As she picks a mug from the eclectic selection in the cupboard and pours herself a cup, Riley lets her mind buzz with the proper way to approach a conversation with her surprise host. Rachel is effortlessly pleasant, of course, but she's also an unanticipated and seemingly vast store of knowledge on Lucas from a period of his life that he refuses to discuss. She doesn't want to come off as nosy, but she's desperate for more clues to help her complete the jigsaw puzzle of his personal history. Whatever scraps she can elicit out of this brand new source, she's going to do her best to get them.

"So," she starts, settling down into the seat across from her and focusing on tearing a sugar packet. "Lucas used to work for you?"

Rachel laughs lightly, instinctively lowering her voice an octave or two. Whether it's to avoid waking Lucas or to keep him from overhearing them talking so openly about him, either way it's for his sake.

"I wouldn't necessarily call it working _for_ me. It wasn't nearly official enough for that. One day I came home from the store with Esther, and this scruffy teenager is walking around the neighborhood going door-to-door. I had half a mind to call the cops on behalf of neighborhood watch—you know, no soliciting and all that, and he really did look _off_. I mean, dusty and sun-tanned and like he didn't know where he was. Like, there was the _glimmer_ of who he was shining through, but it was so starkly out of place. Like in an instant, you could tell that he didn't belong."

Riley thinks about the first time she ran into him, how she recognized those same traits. The tan, the grit like he just arose out of the dust billowed up on the side of the road, but more so than anything that lack of belonging. She can remember how distinctly she could tell from the moment she locked eyes with him that he was searching for direction. For a way to escape.

It's sobering, she thinks, to know he displayed that quality even in the place that should technically have been home.

"So he gets to my door, this nowhere boy, and I've got my cell phone in my hand ready to dial. I mean, I'm with kid you know, and I'm not taking any chances." Riley nods along, remembering that phase of getting to know him too. "But all he asks is if I'd be willing to throw him a few dollars if he volunteers to mow my lawn. And don't get me wrong, this is still weird, but it seemed harmless enough. Lord knew Rick wasn't going to do it, so I figured hey. Why not?"

"And that was it? He just stayed and mowed your lawn."

"Well, no. You'd think it would be." Rachel takes a long sip of her coffee. Riley can't tell if it's for dramatic effect or not. "But a few weeks after that first time, he disappeared. Didn't see him until about… a year? A year and half later? That time, he hung around a bit longer. Few months. That was when I actually started to make headway with him, at least gave him a grilled cheese or two for his trouble."

Riley can't help but smile. "Sure he appreciated that. He loves them."

"Religiously so, I know. Weirdo." She runs a finger along the rim of her mug, obviously lost in the memories. "Feels like a million years ago. Time feels so endless, but so much can change in such short stretches of it. I have to admit, part of me did hesitate before moving to North Carolina. The thought of him coming back around and me not being there to greet him…"

The silence is heavy between them. Although she's known him for far shorter a time, Riley feels like she understands Rachel's dread completely. Or some inverse replica of it. For all the times Rachel must've imagined his face when he showed up on her doorstep and found it empty, she can think of a second spent on that fleeting fear that when she wakes up, he won't be there. That she'll go out to the car, and Dave will still be there, but he'll be long gone.

Rachel just said it herself—he disappeared. One day he was there, and the next…

"But it worked out," Riley states, as if it'll comfort both of them. "You gave him your number, and here we are."

"I'm amazed he remembered it, honestly. But you're right on that front."

She takes a sip of her coffee, allowing the heat of the beverage on her tongue to wake her up more effectively than any caffeine would. She attempts to build a timeline in her head, building out the world of Lucas's existence before she stumbled into it.

"How old did you think he was when you first met him? That first time he showed up in your neighborhood."

Rachel hums thoughtfully, twirling the end of her ponytail on her shoulder. "It's hard to remember. The second time, that's so much more vivid considering he actually talked to me. But he can't have been more than… I don't know, twenty? So when he came the first time, he had to have been younger than that."

Riley knows he never went to college. She knows because he said so himself, but she hadn't considered the possibility that his time on the road stretched even back into high school. She supposes it makes sense given their conversation about his lack of a diploma, it just feels so hard to imagine.

"I can't tell you how many leers I had to endure just to offer the kid some sustenance. Every time I invited him into my house, the PTA mom across the street would shoot me this look from her porch like she'd just downed a whole lemon. Never could tell whether it was because she didn't much like his presence in the neighborhood in the first place, or if she really believed the rumors she spread at the country club that I was quite the cougar."

The coffee goes down wrong this time around. Riley coughs and straightens up, Rachel jumping and reaching behind her to grab a napkin from the counter.

She hastily hands it across the table, watching as Riley dabs at her mouth. "It _was_ just rumors, to be clear. We were never—,"

"No, no, I know," Riley assures her, clearing her throat.

She believes Lucas's statement that she was his first kiss, despite how his level of handsome would suggest otherwise. In fact, given how quickly she offered to take it, Riley can say with absolute certainty that Rachel is far from the greedy one between the two of them when it comes to Lucas Friar.

Once she's regained the ability to speak, Riley ventures another question. "Did he ever say why he was out there? Drifting? Did you ever figure it out?"

Rachel hesitates, thumbing the rim of her mug. The silence is thick between them, but it doesn't feel imposing.

"No, no I didn't," she admits. "And in some ways, I don't think I could tell you even if I did. You know him, I can tell that you do. You know how protective he is, how hard he works to keep everything under wraps. Even a grilled cheese won't solve that problem."

She can't help but feel a bit disappointed. She nods, knowing that truth all too well.

Rachel's gaze drifts beyond her, back towards the living room where Lucas is still snoozing away. Her expression grows softer, the contemplation blending with sentimentality that smooths away some of the lines on her pretty face.

"Something happened to him," she muses. Her voice is even quieter than before, as if the sheer notion of discussing his secrets might jolt him out of his slumber. "He lost something—I don't know what, but I could see it. I could recognize that, and it's a prime accelerant for reckless abandonment."

Riley hesitates. "How could you tell?"

There's a somber edge to her host that wasn't there before. Rachel lets out a plaintive sigh, allowing her eyes to meet hers.

"It's not hard to spot grief when you've familiarized yourself with it already."

She supposes she knows the truth to this as well. She's seen it on so many of her loved ones faces in the last couple of years, mixed with a myriad of other emotions—resentment, frustration, a deep sense of betrayal. She's felt it herself, although she never did quite figure out what she lost that made her so familiar with it. It's like she was brought into the world knowing it, so consumed by it that living felt like carrying the weight of the world.

But she's not in that place anymore. She's here in the cozy kitchen of a friend of a friend, sipping decaf that still manages to awaken her senses and surrounded by the promise that things will be okay. She's in a universe where strangers can become lifelong friends, and a summer downpour can come and go in an instant, and a stalled brake doesn't guarantee a grisly end.

"Enough about him," Rachel says, obviously ready to embrace the sunshine as well. She props her chin on her palm, eyes twinkling as she regards her. "Tell me about you. That silly cowboy is old news—I want to hear about how he managed to befriend a supernova of a gal like you. What brought you through the Austin outskirts, anyhow?"

Riley has never liked talking about herself. But it's a new day, in a new place. She's in a place where she can breathe again, light with the knowledge of it and waiting for her enigma boy to wake up so they can greet a new day. All that considered, talking about herself doesn't seem like such a tall order.

And so she does.

* * *

Riley doesn't even realize how long she chats with Rachel, ingesting another cup of decaf and watching the sun rise to its full height and beam across the green lawn outside the window. As the conversation stretches on the rapport between them becomes comfortable, effortless. She learns quickly how funny her host is and can't help but laugh loudly, only remembering to stay quiet for Lucas's sake the first couple of times.

Baby is the first to break the ice, traipsing into the kitchen with a hungry meow. Riley glances over her shoulder, finding Lucas still out like a light and Bunny happily taking up the extra space and time with him without the tabby giving him the stink eye.

Esther descends from the stairs a few minutes later, bustling around the kitchen to help feed Baby and make herself some breakfast. Rachel opts to get up and start cooking actual food as well, the clamor becoming much more pointed as they shuffle around one another. Esther accidentally drops a pot and all three of them cringe, Riley glancing over her shoulder once again.

Still, nothing. She knows Lucas needs the rest, but this is impressive. Half of her wonders if he's simply faking as an excuse to cuddle with the dog—the neurotic other half worries that maybe he's dead.

Rachel glances in his direction too, before making a face and shrugging. "It's almost noon. If we wake him up for simply getting on with the day, that's more his problem than ours."

Bunny trades the quality snuggling for the smell of Canadian bacon, leaping off the couch and bounding into the kitchen excitedly to traipse around their feet for scraps. Riley hears the couch creak behind her, but doesn't bother to look. If she could demonstrate a fraction of patience, she figures the universe would reward her for it.

In this case, the universe decides to honor the deal. It's only a few more minutes before Lucas meanders over to join them, looking pointedly more rested than he has since she's met him and sporting a slight case of bedhead to prove it. He stifles a yawn, rolling his eyes when Rachel begins a sarcastic clap in his honor.

"It's about damn time," she teases, finishing off her mock applause with a flourish.

Lucas gently steps past her to reach for a clean glass sitting on the edge of the sink, filling it with water. His voice is still raspy with sleep when he speaks. "You were the one who invited me into your home. As the guest, aren't I supposed to take advantage of your courtesy?"

"Yeah, but you would think you could pull your ass out of bed before half the day is gone." She throws him a playful squint, reaching up and messing with his hair. "I hope you have a comb in that knapsack of yours."

The breezy, mutually appreciative dynamic they share is refreshing. Lucas is constantly brushing off his importance and insisting he's a nobody, but time and time again Riley has seen evidence to the contrary. Rachel, Dylan, Asher from the way he talks about him—it's obvious how deeply he's valued by those who would know him best.

Riley, on the other hand, is growing _too_ fond of him in the softness of the morning. She likes the way his shoulders slouch with permission to be relaxed. She likes that hoarse quality to his voice, still shaking off the gravel of sleep. She likes the numerous cowlicks in his hair that have sprung up overnight, can't help but think smoothing out each one of them wouldn't be such a bad way to spend an hour or so.

When he slides into the seat next to her and tosses her a smile, she has to resist the urge to reach up and start the endeavor. It takes a surprising amount of her willpower. "Sleep well?"

"Oh, yeah," she lies. "Take it you did too, considering your bed buddies. Now I understand why you passed up the offer to stay with me."

He laughs. Riley can't seem to look away from him, fixated on the pillow crease lingering just below his cheekbone. She has half a mind to reach forward and smooth that out too, but she knows such a thing isn't plausible. More so, she thinks she's just searching for an excuse to touch him.

Rachel pulls them into conversation as she lays breakfast on the table, Riley immediately filling her plate in the hopes that it'll distract her from him. Existing as a functional human being was so much easier when he was asleep.

She tunes back into the conversation when the topic shifts to their plans for the day, Esther having long since retreated back upstairs and out of sight. Riley isn't all that surprised—the moment Lucas reentered the scenario, she became a deer in headlights. She wishes she could assure her she knows the feeling, but that she should hardly worry. Lucas is far from aware of the effect he has, that unidentifiable quality of his.

"Well, yeah, but it's not going to be ready until this evening," Lucas states matter-of-factly. He preps another forkful of bacon and eggs, obviously intending to indulge the moment he's done speaking. It's nice, she realizes, getting to see him eat as much as he pleases without overthinking it. "So I'm not sure what we're going to do until then."

Rachel scoffs. "'Not sure.' You'll hang here is what you'll do!"

The prospect of a quiet afternoon is more appealing than Riley would've thought. It's hard to forget how much driving she's done in the last few weeks, a perpetual prisoner to the road. Even just a few more hours of getting to do as she wishes in such a welcoming environment sounds like heaven.

She can see the hesitation on Lucas's face before he vocalizes it. "But—,"

"You know, Lucas," she says loftily, twirling her fork in her fingers. "It's almost as rude to refuse the hospitality of a friend when they offer it as it is to be a perceived burden in the first place."

Rachel lets out a bark of a laugh, pointing to Riley as if to accent her point and raising her eyebrows. Lucas is speechless, glancing back and forth between them before settling his gaze on her. It's clearly the first time anyone has ever questioned his own constant state of self-antagonizing.

He's rather cute when he's so dumbstruck. Riley stabs her fork into a piece of bacon on his plate, popping it into her mouth before he can retort and giving him her brightest beam.

With that, it's settled. Lucas gives up the argument and the two of them plan to spend the afternoon with Rachel, lazing around the house and enjoying the chance to relax.

At first Riley doesn't even know what to do with the free time, so she's grateful when Rachel pulls her into the task of helping her make chocolate chip cookies. Lucas ends up hanging around while they do so, doing more eating of the dough rather than preparing it. She makes a point of bopping a bit of it onto his nose as he's hovering over her shoulder, disrupting her very important work of mixing it properly. The gesture definitely surprises him enough to back off, and then Riley finds herself regretting it since she didn't so much mind how close he was.

Once the cookies are in the oven, Rachel ropes Lucas into walking Bunny for old time's sake while Riley temporarily retreats to her room. For the first time since she started her road trip, she finds herself drawn to the notebook tucked in the inside pocket of her backpack. It's cover is well-worn and the first chunk of pages are crinkled with use, but the journal feels cold with abandonment. Considering she had sort of lost touch with her muse even before she took off cross-country, such a feeling is far from surprising.

Settling back down at the kitchen table with the sunlight streaming in and an unusually clear head, Riley puts pen to paper and actually writes for the first time in months. The words come in a sort of magical burst, clear and sharp and itching to be written after such a deep hibernation. She doesn't know if it's any good, and she doesn't know if she'll use any of it ever again. But the sheer sensation of it is progress enough, and feels like coming home in a way she doesn't think she'll ever be able to replicate.

Or maybe, the reason she's able to do it now is because that feeling has already felt familiar in the last couple of weeks.

Glancing out the window, Riley gets wrapped up in watching Lucas run around the backyard with Bunny. He looks about as carefree and enthusiastic as the dog, smile wider than she's ever seen it as he tosses the ball across the lawn and cheers until Bunny rams back into him and yaps for him to do it again.

Carefree is beautiful on him. If she could have it her way, he'd never have to know anything else.

She's stirred out of her daze by her phone buzzing on the tabletop, catching her attention. Her stomach sinks as she dreads the contact lighting up her screen being someone from home, but her derision is premature. No, it's merely Farkle, informing her that he made it home safely and thanking her once again for her generosity in offering him a ride.

When she unlocks her phone to read the full message, she's surprised by the drive link that he's attached at the bottom.

 _Riley, it's Farkle Minkus. Just wanted to inform you that I made it home safely. When you're in New York again, we will have to catch up. Thank you again for allowing me into your car and thusly, into your world. Even though we only crossed paths for a handful of hours, I feel I learned more from you and Lucas than perhaps the collective four years of my collegiate education. Don't tell my father that, though. It would break his heart (and his wallet)._

 _I was able to get the photos from the disposable processed, and I took the time this afternoon to go through and upload them. Thought you might like to see them. (Number forty-seven is my personal favorite shot). I kept the camera, so I hope Lucas doesn't hate me any more for it. Although, with you as a distraction, I'm confident in hypothesizing he won't even notice that it's gone._

 _Best of luck with the rest of your travels, and all other endeavors._

Riley feels her heart swell as she rereads the message, grateful for the additional new friendship that came to life unexpectedly on the side of the road. She creates a reminder to get in touch with him the moment she returns, before clicking on the link and scrolling through the photos. Although she wants to take her time really browsing them later, her curiosity is killing her and she jumps to forty-seven as quickly as possible.

It takes a few seconds for the image to load, but the moment it lights up her screen Riley feels her heart skip a beat.

She and Lucas are standing in front of the pond at the nature reserve, captured in a completely candid moment from Farkle's observer perspective. They're facing out towards the water, Riley in the midst of verbally framing a shot for him. Her arm not cradling the camera is stretched out wide in front of them, gesturing to make her point as she's been known to do. Lucas is hanging on her every word, hovering close like at the bowling alley or with the cookie dough and gazing over her shoulder towards whatever visual she's attempting to capture.

Everything else is irrelevant. All that natural beauty of the nature reserve around them, and Farkle managed to capture the solitary moment where the two of them were the most striking element in the landscape.

Letting her gaze shift to find Lucas again, it's not hard to see how such a feat is possible. He's often the most striking piece of her scenery, especially when he's smiling the way he is now.

Riley saves the image on her phone, jumping to settings. Before she can question herself she changes her home background, content with the way her stomach flips as she closes her applications and finds herself gazing at the two of them surrounded by the reserve but totally wrapped up in their own little world.

Smiling fondly, Riley sets her phone back down on the table and focuses back on her notebook. Determined to get another hundred words out before the muse threatens to sneak away from her for good.

* * *

Rachel drives them to the repair shop, and Riley finds herself wishing the journey could stretch on forever. She's become accustomed to the friendly banter between Rachel and Lucas, and it's nice to be able to recline in the backseat and get lost in watching the world pass her by in a blur like she used to when she was a kid. If it wasn't overcast, she'd attempt to find the moon in the sky and imagine it was following her, keeping her safe on her travels with some of that magic she hasn't thought about since childhood.

But the trip doesn't take a little more than an hour, and it's not long before they're parked on the curb and Rachel is helping them unload their bags on the sidewalk. She pawned off enough stuff on Lucas that he's got a brand new duffle bag to accompany his backpack, and it gives Riley a sharp sense of satisfaction to see it piled on the ground with her things.

The more pieces of a concrete existence they give him, the more weight of affection and care he has to carry around, the less likely he might be to float away with the wind.

Rachel heaves out a sigh as she slams the back end of the van, blinking at the two of them standing there on the curb. Then she breaks into a grin, holding out her arms and marching towards Riley to offer her a hug. "Come here, lady."

She smiles, stepping over the bags to meet her in the middle. When Rachel pulls her into an embrace, she's surprised by how secure it feels. It feels like being hugged by family, not a strange woman she met in a desperate situation less than twenty-four hours ago.

"You drive safe, okay? Lucas has my number, so grab it from him and let me know when you make it wherever you're trying to go. Please?" Riley pulls back and gives her an eager nod, doing her best not to get choked up. Rachel gives her a beam. "Atta girl. And you take care of that weirdo, yeah?"

"I'll do my best," she promises without hesitation.

As she returns to the curb, Lucas eyes her before shifting his gaze back to his feet. She knows there's no way he's going to let Rachel leave without a proper goodbye, but perhaps his bashful nature at displays of affection haven't faded as completely as Riley thought they had. She remembers how she glimpsed his reunion with Dylan at the motel, just a fleeting glance on her way out of the picture.

If he needs space, she'll give that to him. It's the least she could do, considering he let down his walls enough to make this life-saving call in the first place.

She reaches out and gently touches his elbow. "I'll go see if I can get the process started."

Lucas lifts his gaze to lock eyes with her, offering a nod. She gives Rachel one last wave before traipsing her way towards the entrance, pushing open the door and feeling a rush of air conditioning hit her in a burst.

Still, she can't fight the instinct to get one last look.

Rachel has him in a bear hug, much like the one she gave him when she first arrived to rescue them. She's murmuring something, token guidance to go with the goodbye, and she can see Lucas nod along to whatever it is she's saying.

When they pull back from the embrace, Rachel reaches forward and cups his face in her hands. The warmth in her expression is so overwhelming, the proud twinkle in her eyes so bright, Riley can see it even from so many steps away. She had forgotten what it looked like, to see a mother look at their child with so much love.

She has to look away. She disappears into the repair shop, wondering if Lucas has any idea how loved he actually is.

* * *

As it turns out, Riley's mission to get started on retrieving Dave is short-lived. Lucas was the one who filed the paperwork in the first place, so it's not until he comes in with their bags that they can actually get the process moving. So she lets him take over and goes to take inventory of their stuff, mostly to give her the sense of contributing somehow.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket while she's going through her backpack, triple-checking that she got everything from Rachel's before they continue their journey up the coast. She only gets a glimpse of Auggie smiling on her lock image before the caller ID consumes the screen, broadcasting exactly who is ringing her up.

This time, the reminder takes her by surprise. She feels her stomach drop as she reads her mother's contact name, an old photo of the two of them from high school staring back at her and inviting her to pick up.

She knows she can't ignore her forever. She already answered her last check-in too hurriedly when Farkle was with her, so she knows she's probably just making her more anxious. And the longer it takes her to answer this time around, the more she's going to amplify that effect.

Casting a glance in Lucas's direction to make sure he's still occupied at the counter, Riley steps just outside the doors and swipes to accept the call.

"Hello?"

"Good afternoon, dear!" Topanga says cheerfully, obviously in a good mood today. "I didn't catch you while driving, did I?"

"No, nope. Just pulled over for a spell, actually," she lies, crossing her arms and beginning a subtle pace along the edge of the building.

Topanga exhales in relief. "Good. How goes the journey today? You should be almost to D.C. at this point, right? At this rate, you could probably make it to Philadelphia by tonight. I'm sure if you called up Amy and Alan, they'd be happy to have you a night earlier than expected."

Hearing her mother state so matter-of-factly how close this trip is to reaching its conclusion gives her a strange sense of anxiety. She doesn't know what it is—the inevitable goodbye she has to face that her mother doesn't even know about; the prospect of being back under the watchful eye of her parents whose good intentions might just suffocate her; the fact that it feels like she's spent so much time on the road at this point that when she hits park for the final time and stops moving she doesn't know how she's going to reorient her world order.

"Riley, did you hear me? Are you still there?"

"What? Yes," she covers quickly. "I was just thinking, um—,"

"We're so excited to have you back soon. Cory has been worried sick, you know, I think your homecoming will be a relief for all parties involved. And I've already got a list going here of jobs you could take up, at least for the remainder of the summer—,"

She can't do it. She can't stomach the thought of returning to her dreary everyday existence, having her mother hook her up with a sensible job that she resents and back to trying to fill that empty space in her chest. It's shrunken so small since she left Texas that she almost forgot about it, but the nightmare and well-intentioned nag from her mother allows it to eat up a little more of her soul.

"Actually, mom, I'm running a little bit behind schedule," she stammers out. She takes a deep breath, willing her words to work properly. "I'm not sure when I'll be back, but it's not as soon as I initially anticipated."

Radio silence. She can't even hear Topanga breathe. For a second, she has half a mind to wonder if she hung up.

"How long is a little bit?"

Riley grimaces, twisting her mouth into a nervous frown. "A couple of days? I'm really not sure. Some unexpected things have just come up, and—,"

"Riley, you've got to be kidding me," Topanga sighs. She can imagine the way she's running her hands through her hair, shaking her head in disappointment. "We had a schedule for a reason. It was an exercise of trust enough to let you do this crazy experiment in the first place—,"

She can feel her cheeks warming out of frustration. She scowls. "It's not a crazy experiment."

"And you're not the one fronting the bill, are you? You realize you're out there coasting on our money, right?"

"I know that. It's not like I meant to do—if you would just hear me out—,"

"I knew this whole thing was going to be too much trouble. It was ridiculous when you asked to do it, but we figured you needed the freedom. Your father wanted to believe that if you did this, it would fix whatever went wrong before. But I knew you wouldn't be able to—,"

Riley can feel her throat aching with the forewarning of tears. She clears it, winding one of the cord bracelets on her wrists between her fingers and pulling. "If you didn't trust me, you should've just said so from the get go. If you want to treat me like a baby—,"

"Don't turn this on me," Topanga says with a scoff. She can hear the emotion in her mother's voice, but as it always is with her, it's difficult to tell where the feeling is coming from. The line between love and hate is notoriously thin. "You know exactly why we have to treat you this way. You should know better than anyone!"

Riley closes her eyes, chewing her lip to keep from breaking. Topanga is right, she knows. She knows exactly why they have to treat her like she's fragile, why it's so difficult to trust her on her own. It's all because of choices she made, decisions that she's still trying to unpack and make up for in her own head.

But right now, she doesn't want to think about that. She wants to go back to feeling light, and discovering something new, and if she has to do that with or without their help, then that's fine.

She's pulling her bracelet so tightly it's cutting off her circulation. She releases it, inhaling a deep breath.

"I'm just telling you how it is," she states, hating how her voice still shakes despite her resolve. "I'm going to be later than expected. If you want to pull your funding, that's fine, I'll figure it out on my own. Wouldn't be the first time I had to work out a tough situation on my own."

"Riley Erica—," Topanga pauses when the sound of a power drill revs behind her, causing Riley to jump and whip around towards the open garage where other cars are being repaired. "What was that? Where are you?"

"Nothing."

"Are you… did something happen?" She can hear the concern laced through her question, but it's hard to separate from the dissatisfaction. "Is everything—?"

"I have to go. I'll see you when I see you."

"Riley. Riley, don't you dare hang up this phone—,"

She doesn't let her finish the warning. Riley ends the call with a frantic flourish, thrust back into the soundscape of the warm summer wind and machinery saving the mechanical life of stranded vehicles. When her mom immediately attempts to call her back she declines the call, shutting off her phone and stuffing it into her pocket.

She may have just made a huge mistake, especially if Topanga decides to follow through on her threat and essentially disown her for the remainder of the trip. If something else happens to Dave like it did the day before, then she's as good as toast.

But she doesn't care. Jade told her to follow her gut, and presently the message is loud and clear that can't she fathom going home so soon. Not yet. Not when she finally thinks she's closer to figuring out what she needs than ever before. That was the whole reason she set out on this odyssey anyway—to figure herself out. To find herself.

She's drawn out of her tizzy when a car honks from around the corner, startling her. She looks up to find Dave careening back into the parking space in front of her, Lucas behind the wheel and giving her a smile as he kills the engine. She doesn't know which one of them she's happier to see.

"He's alive," she says weakly, allowing herself to mirror his smile with everything she's got as he climbs out of the driver's seat.

"I know, it's a miracle. Harley made sure I understood as much before he handed me back the keys. We'll have to be gentle with him if we intend to make it back up the rest of the coast in one piece. Might have to take it slow."

Lucas affectionately pats the roof of the hatchback, before turning his gaze to her. The moment he gets a better look at her his expression shifts instantly, his smile dimming and concern taking over as he hops onto the curb to meet her.

"Hey," he says softly, ignoring the offhand wave she does preemptively. He steps closer and lightly touches her shoulder. "Hey, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

She lets her gaze flit from the concrete to meet his eyes. She's done such a good job of avoiding the gritter subjects of her own personal history, keeping it on the backburner with him so that they can both focus on the things that are good. The things that are easy. But with the way he's looking at her, she wonders if maybe she could tell him. She's always poking him to open up with her, but maybe part of the problem is that she isn't returning the favor.

He knows she's got issues with her mother, their argument before Dave went off the rails made that abundantly clear. And he's always been a good listener, sometimes to her frustration—she's fairly sure that if she elected to tell him, he would listen. He may even understand.

She doesn't want to focus on that now. For now, she wants to keep focusing on the good—the sparkle in his eyes, the couple of leftover cowlicks that even a good combing can't seem to tame on the back of his head, the way that hole in her chest seems to disappear entirely the longer they're together.

As she decided earlier, she wants to spend some time dedicated to the two of them and see what that potential swirling around in the air between them is really supposed to be. The rest of the bullshit, like returning to New York, she's more than happy to put off for a couple more days.

"Nothing," she tells him quietly, offering a light smile and hoping that will be enough. "Taking it slow sounds like a plan to me."

She can tell he wants to ask her more. He wants to, but he also knows what it's like to be on the other side of the interrogation. So he lets the issue drop, accepting her response with a nod and lightly squeezing her shoulder before pulling away.

As they get back into the car, Riley behind the wheel, she's still alight with that restless energy. The conversation with her mother has instilled her with a fistful of spite, and if getting home as efficiently as possible is what they so desperately want her to do then she finds she wants to do everything in her power to stretch out the remainder of the journey.

"Lucas," she says slowly, turning on the engine.

He turns to lock eyes with her, raising an eyebrow interestedly in lieu of responding. That gesture alone steels her resolve, brightening the spite with a bit of mischief to make it feel more like a decision of her own.

She can't help the smirk that creeps onto her face. She tilts her head, mind already thrumming with ideas. "If we're taking it slow… what would you say to a little detour?"

* * *

It's about four hours on the road until they hit Virginia, passing the state line just as the sun dips below the horizon. While their hotel isn't much further than that, Riley keeps driving with a set destination in mind and trusting her childhood memories to guide her there. She's not ready to turn her phone back on yet. She isn't sure she'll ever be ready.

Besides, there's something distinctly thrilling about being off the grid. She understands the way Lucas exists more sharply than ever, reveling in the unique quality of only being known to the people she wants to have near her at any given moment. Disappearing off the radar with him sort of feels like freedom, more than she's ever experienced.

With the road signage helping her out, it's not long until she's able to get to Virginia Beach. From there she knows her way to the less populated parts of the coast fairly well, considering how often they used to come down here when they'd visit Uncle Eric for summers. They'd spend some time in D.C. where he works as a senator, then Aunt Morgan and Uncle Josh would come join them and they'd all travel down the state together for a week at the beach.

That being said, she always stayed safely on the popular main stretches. They never deviated off the beaten path, so parking in the darkness down the oceanside and venturing with Lucas into the night to find the fire pits feels like an act of defiance many years in the making. Whenever she'd spot the embers glowing from so far away, she couldn't help but imagine that the young men and women sharing in those bonfire lit nights together had to have been having the most important of conversations. Swapping stories and creating memories they'd never forget, shared only between them and the fire as it crackled into smoke and disappeared into the salty ocean air.

Riley hopes that even a fraction of her romantic childhood idealizations is true. Out there in the shadows of the night, hidden from the rest of the world, she's eager to see what might develop between her and her trusty car companion.

For whatever reason, it's not difficult to find an unclaimed fire pit with no one else around to intrude. Lucas proves himself adept at getting the fire going, evidently another one of those skills he has up his sleeve for reasons she likely doesn't want to know. She decides she doesn't care much either way. The moment it kicks up and he looks up at her with a proud smirk, the way the firelight catches in his green eyes is enough to render any other potential cares extraneous.

Once they've settled down in front of the fire, perched on opposite pieces of driftwood, Riley prompts them back into conversation. She starts out with simple things—the trip thus far, the landmarks they've seen, the stark contrast between an evening spent under the stars in Alabama and a night in the suburbs of North Carolina in the warm company of a friend. She can't help but feel fond over how easy conversation has become between them, a far cry from their first few exchanges when she picked him up on the side of the road.

She can't believe there were stretches of dialogue that went nowhere with him. She can't believe there was a time where she never knew him at all. She has to wonder how different things would've been if he'd been there earlier in her life. If he'd been there from the start.

Better. That much, she knows without a doubt.

Riley bursts into laughter as he finishes up recalling a story about growing up on his grandfather's farm, one of the most vivid recollections about his past she's shared with her. He describes how he accepted a dare from Vanessa to scale the fence of the bull pen belonging to their neighbor McCullough, and that if he managed it successfully then she would go on a date with his friend Zay. But he lost his balance halfway over the top and fell the rest of the way down—and even that was nothing compared to how the bull would've trampled him had it not been for the restraint holding it back.

"Worst part of it is, Vanessa didn't even go on the date," he says, chuckling as Riley attempts to reel in her own laughter. It's not a funny story, objectively, but the way he tells it makes it impossible not to laugh. He holds out his hand, showing her the surface of his palm. "Still have the scar to show for it."

Riley scoots to the edge of her driftwood, reaching out a hand to take his in her own. She handles him delicately, finding the ghost of the scar under his lifeline. She brushes her fingers over the faded hairline of white, far more enthralled by the texture of his skin under her fingertips than the legacy of a failed dare.

The moment lingers, Lucas bending his fingers hesitantly to mirror the touch on her own palm. She lifts her gaze to meet his eyes, but his focus is drawn solely to their hands. He clears his throat, but no words follow the gesture.

"You truly had a far more interesting adolescence than me," she assures him, exhaling a scoff. "Must've been an experience, childhood on the Sundance strip."

That seems to snap him out of his daze. He frowns, retracting his hand and placing it back in his lap. As if he's just remembered it's not supposed to be anywhere near her. "That's one way to put it, yeah."

She wonders if he realizes he's killing her. Part of it is the writer in her, but she can't fathom going another day without getting some sort of clue as to who he is. What it was like growing up, why he left, why he's made it all the way to the opposite end of the country with her without one word about his parents, his home, his dreams whether they're abandoned or not. That ghost he seems to be running from that catches up to him at the most unexpected of times, or what's causing the grief so palpable that even complete strangers can pick up on it despite how he aims to hide it.

Whatever it is that can take him so quickly away from her, regardless of how many miles they travel to escape it.

"You know I'm not trying to push you," she starts tentatively, knowing how badly these conversations have gone in the past. He closes his eyes, as if he knows exactly what she's going to say next. "After everything in the last couple of days, I hope you at least believe that."

For a moment, silence. Then, he nods.

"You're my friend, Lucas." The statement comes out in a crackle like fire, so delicate in its truth that if she says it any louder it might float away with the smoke. "You're my friend, and I care about you. Tell me you know that, too."

Another pause. After a minute, another nod. Hesitant, but affirmative.

Riley swallows her nerves, feeling her heart pound in her throat. She feels volcanic, like they're on the cusp of bubbling over into new and dangerous territory. But she also knows she wants to go there—she has for days. If it means getting to know him fully, she'd let the whole beach smolder away.

"I just want to understand. Anything you can tell me—whatever feels right. It doesn't have to be everything. It… it doesn't even need to be anything, really. Just let me in. Let me understand."

The ocean air absorbs the sentiment, carrying it back out to the sea. Silence permeates their world for a few long moments, perturbed only by the sound of the waves in the distance and the popping of the firewood as it burns itself into embers.

"My grandfather is dead."

Riley lifts her head, pulled from getting lost in the fire to look at him. He keeps his gaze trained out in front of him, beyond the fire and out towards the inky blackness of the water in the distance. He says the statement blankly, like he's trying it out for the first time. Like he's still not convinced of it himself.

"It shouldn't have been a surprise," he continues. "He was old. His health was never the greatest—no one who spends their lives on the strip can boast good health. Asher said it was a heart attack. I still don't get that, really. How someone's heart can be working one day, keeping them alive, and the next it's just not." He swallows, dipping his gaze down to the sand. "But it happens. And he's dead. When you met me, when we ran into each other, I had just… yeah."

Riley frowns. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not even… he was always going to die. Everybody does, after all. But I always thought—I don't know. It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

She nods, wishing she had better words to convey that she understands. That she hears him, that every mixed up emotion he might be feeling over the situation or has been carrying with him in silence for the last couple of weeks is valid and heard and understood.

Two weeks, and he never said a word. She can't imagine, holding all of that inside for so long.

Lucas screws his eyes shut, leaning forward on his elbows. He rubs his hands together anxiously, wringing them for the sake of moving rather than any effort to warm himself up. "The last time I saw him, it wasn't… things didn't go well. Everything had gone so wrong, and I did some things I shouldn't have. I was always disappointing him, but this was so much worse. I couldn't even look at him." He clears his throat, shaking his head. "And that's the last he got of me. He must've hated me."

"I'm sure that's not true—,"

"I wasn't there," he stammers. His voice has taken on that raspy quality again, but this version lacks the warm comfort of waking up safe and well-rested. It's colder, shakier, searching for that warmth but unable to find it even with a fire at arms' reach. "He suffered, and I wasn't there. I didn't get to tell him how sorry—I didn't get to—,"

The sentence remains unfinished, Lucas unable to keep going from how his voice cracks. He hides his head in his hands, letting out an exhale so strained it must be crumbling under the weight of the world.

Riley realizes a second later where the gravelly quality is stemming from. It's the same cause of the way his shoulders are trembling and why he can't bring himself to look at her. Grief finally addressed, manifesting itself in the only tangible form humans really comprehend.

She needs to be close to him. She wants to help him, to help shoulder some of that weight, but she doesn't think she can with so much distance between them. She's always been terrible with words when it truly matters, and her instincts are telling her that words aren't enough. She knows from her own experience that they rarely are.

Following her gut, Riley pushes to her feet and closes the few feet separating them. She cautiously approaches and settles down on the driftwood next to him, scooting closer and gently touching his upper arm.

"I left him behind," Lucas blurts in a huff, dropping his hands from his face. Her chest aches at the tears shimmering in his eyes, the trail of them reflecting the firelight on his cheeks. She wants to wipe them away. "All I know how to do is run, so that's what I did. And he returned the favor. Neither of us got to say goodbye."

She tilts her head, feeling tears prick the corner of her eyes. "Lucas…"

"And it's my fault. He must've hated me. All I left him with was the memory of what I did and how I never came back."

"No," Riley refutes, shaking her head adamantly. She edges closer to him, tightening her grip on his shoulder to get him to hear her. "Lucas, I promise you he didn't."

"How could you know? How could you possibly know that?"

"People aren't thinking about all the ways people wronged them when they're that close to death. At that point, all of that anger and resentment is just too much energy." She waits for him to meet her gaze, rubbing her thumb against the ridge of his collarbone. "Most people want to remember the good things, the things that they loved, and the reasons that they did. Everything else isn't worth it. Believe me."

Lucas holds her gaze, searching her face for the truth. Holding his breath. Obviously wanting to believe her, eyes shining with vulnerability.

Riley knows she doesn't know the whole story. She didn't learn much more than she knew before, and so many pieces to his puzzle still remain a mystery. But she's certain that there's no way his grandfather spent his last moments hating him. No matter what he did, she can't imagine a scenario where he wouldn't be worth forgiving. Where he wouldn't be worth loving, when all the dust has settled and there's nothing left to ponder but how much you're going to miss the treasures you're leaving behind.

Another tear slips down his cheek as he averts his eyes, facing back towards the fire and wiping at his face. Although she still has a million questions, she recognizes how difficult this discussion alone must've been for him. How hard it had to have been for him to let her in this much, how special it is that he gave her even that.

She hopes he knows she appreciates it. That she's grateful for the trust, even more grateful for him, that she's so full to bursting with gratitude towards him she doesn't know what to do with herself. She hasn't since the moment he climbed into her passenger seat and completely turned her world upside down.

For now, she settles for the only language she feels competent in. She closes the remaining distance between them and slides her arm around both his shoulders, bringing up her other hand to gently rub circles into his arm.

He doesn't shy away from the touch, his eyes fluttering closed.

Tentatively, Riley leans forward and rests her chin against his shoulder. It's a moment or two before she feels him actually melt into the embrace, some of the tension in his muscles fading as he lets out a shaky sigh. Heart still pounding her chest, even more pointedly now, Riley presses a kiss into the denim of his jacket before resting her head against his back.

Settling into the quiet, allowing the grief and the tension to be carried away by the ocean breeze into the night with the smoke, like she always dreamt it would.

* * *

The ride back to the motel for the night is plaintive in its peace. Riley doesn't fight for conversation, considering she's already taken so much out of him for one evening. The atmosphere is settled, calm, grounded with a new sense of trust she can't remember ever sharing with another person. It's the kind of development that doesn't need commentary.

Still, something electric remains in the air between them. Creating this tension that's always been there to pique her curiosity, only growing more and more difficult to ignore.

When she pulls in front of their row of rooms after retrieving the keys from the front desk, she kills the engine and plunges them into the silence of the night. Although there's nothing stopping them from turning in, neither of them make any moves to leave the car.

"I know that probably wasn't what you wanted from me," Lucas murmurs.

She quirks an eyebrow, tilting her head to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"When you asked for me to tell you something." He's avoiding her gaze, pressing his thumbs into his knuckles in his lap. "I know you were hoping for… something more…"

He shrugs aimlessly, not sure how to articulate it.

"Everything else."

In some ways, he's right. It wasn't what Riley was expecting when she set out to get answers, and he's smart enough to know that without her having to say it. But what he gave her instead was so much more—it was what he needed, too. And she'd rather have that than all the answers in the universe.

She mirrors his shrug, managing a smile despite how heavy the evening has felt. Hoping he'll believe her words when she speaks them.

"It was enough."

Lucas glances at her, searching her again for another hint of dishonesty. No matter how hard he scrutinizes her, he's not going to find any.

"I just know—I know it's been hard to trust me. Without knowing the full story. But you let me come this far anyway, and I really appreciate that." He forces himself to meet her eyes, making sure to hold her gaze as he makes this statement. "Thank you. For believing in me."

She wonders if he realizes it's hardly a difficult task. In a lot of ways, it's the simplest thing she thinks she's ever done. "I will always believe in you."

"Why?" The question slips out before he can stop it, hanging in the air. He swallows, laughing in spite of himself and shaking his head as he locks eyes with her. "Why? You don't even know me."

She squints at him, cocking her head curiously. "You really believe that?"

He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. The longer they hold each other's gaze, caught in the weight of the query, the more pronounced that electric presence around them seems to become.

Riley feels restless again, blood boiling into adrenaline, but it's not like usual. It's not because of fear. This feeling rests deeper in her stomach, a strange kind of hunger that has nothing to do with her appetite.

Lucas breaks the eye contact, coughing awkwardly and unbuckling his seatbelt. He mumbles something offhand that she doesn't catch as he climbs out of the car, escaping the static and unexplored territory taunting them. Like Pompeii before Mount Vesuvius.

Riley contemplates as Lucas digs around in the trunk to grab their bags, spurred to action where she's frozen with indecision. She twirls her key ring round and round on her lanyard, trying to listen to what Jade advised her and follow her instincts. Wondering if following this insane desire that's sparked to life is an absolute disaster waiting to happen, or if maybe it's exactly what they both need.

More than that, she realizes that she has to return the favor. He was right when he told her that it's far simpler to ask the questions rather than answer them, and while she's been more than happy to share the small details of her life she's never done her part to open up either. He's just given her a indisputable gift by sharing with her what he did, and it's only fair that she return the notion if she ever wants to move forward. If she ever wants to see exactly what the two of them are capable of being, then she needs to put in her fair share as well.

Lucas is already standing outside the room, searching his pocket for the keys. She needs to move now, speak now, before she loses the courage again. She's not going to let this opportunity pass her by. She has to follow her own gospel, and never has there been a clearer moment to do so than right now.

Heart pounding, resolved steeled, and face hot like molten lava, Riley pushes open the door and pulls herself from the vehicle. Ready for the volcano, and whatever beautiful disaster that may follow.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yes, it's true! She's here! She's alive! Thank you all so much for your patience as I worked through this chapter here - crazy time in the real world for me right now, but I'm so glad to have gotten the time and creative spark to get this update out. If you're still out there n still reading, you're a real one and I appreciate you.

So... yeah. Long time coming on this chapter. The next chapter is... probably the most important one in terms of... the plot? Sort of? So I'm kind of terrified to try and actually write it fjkdhsgkjsg so we'll see what happens! In any case, happy summer to y'all (or winter time for those of y'all across the globe) and catch you on the flip side (and ideally not five months from now HAHAHA).


	10. meltdown ( lucas )

**A/N:** Greetings, my wonderful reader pals and road trip adventurers! Here I am only TWO months out from my last update rather than five... what's that thing they call... progress? I hope y'all are having an awesome summer and whatever you've got coming for fall kicks off swimmingly.

I'm sticking an author's note at the top here because... this is a major chapter. It's major for a lot of reasons (story, plot, etc.), but another reason is to be quite blunt (and I'm sure some of you probably saw this coming given how last chapter ended) there's some serious romantic tension about to snapped here in a physical outlet. Nothing too groundbreaking here - I'm still me and the 'T' rating on this fic is still perfectly accurate - but I wanted to put a little content note here at the top so that readers who might be uncomfortable with that can know it's coming and sort of skim through it if they so choose.

Otherwise, here is the next chapter and another big jump in our journey with RL here. I really tried my best with this chapter and at this point I can't even look at it anymore, so I'm sending it off into the ether to be shared with y'all with only my sincerest love for them attached and good tidings to y'all for reading along with me.

So without further ado...

* * *

When Lucas spills out of the hatchback and inhales the muggy summer air, he's very aware of the way his palms are tingling.

If he had a sixth sense, he thinks it would be this sensation. Whenever he's been up against an insurmountable force, or tread too close to a dangerous situation, he gets this telltale buzz in his hands. It's like they're attempting to head off the disaster before it begins, like if they react strongly enough they'll lose their function and be able to prevent him from doing any damage with them. If they prickle just right, maybe they'll be able to change his mind on whatever bad decision he knows he's marching into for the worse.

They've never been all that effective, but in this case Lucas doesn't think he needs the warning. No one needs to tell him twice to stay far away from Riley, especially in moments like these where the space between them suddenly seems electric and the air feels thick in a way that's not from the humidity. The reason he believes the warning arrives in his hands is because they're always the perpetrators of trouble, and there's no way in hell he's letting them near her.

His hands have only able been capable of destruction, and he doesn't want to see what that would mean if he applied it to his generous, kind-hearted friend.

Besides, he's already embarrassed himself enough for one night. Breaking down the way he did on the beach and saying far more about his past than he ever intended was bad enough, and he doesn't plan to make that mistake again. So he takes the distraction in unloading their bags, not even allowing himself to look in Riley's direction as he carries their things to the motel room.

Still, his fingers sure think there's a necessity to convey the warning signal. His hands are trembling as he fumbles with the key, only managing to get it into the lock and open the door after he takes a deep breath to calm his nerves.

As he tosses their things inside the space and attempts to block out everything else, he can't help but wonder what it is about him that makes this whole situation seem so complicated. If he lays the facts out in front of him one by one, it's not so overwhelming—he told Riley about his grandfather. She offered him sympathy, and comfort, which she's never been short on. She expressed her belief in him, and then he had a panic attack and made a mad dash for the exit like he always does. Nothing confusing or unusual about that.

But to state all of it so plainly feels unfair, like its not giving the truths their due weight. He told Riley about Pappy Joe, which he hasn't allowed _himself_ to think about in the last two weeks, let alone the last five years. He opened up to her when he taught himself better than that ages ago, and the most disturbing part about it is that he wanted to. He wanted to share it with her, to put it out there in the world so that maybe it would stop suffocating him in the quiet.

And she listened. Riley heard him, just as she promised she would, and offered him all the things he's spent so many years surviving without. Compassion. Comfort. Understanding. She entered his space without an ounce of hesitation, gave him reassurance, managed to give him a sense of _relief_ he doesn't think he's ever felt.

Then she looked at him—soft-featured, bright-eyed, delicate in her sincerity—and professed her belief in him. Like she's always known him to be better than he is. Like she can't think of a universe where she knows anything different.

And here he is, sick to stomach with something like adrenaline but not quite, trying to escape the weight of it as if it'll choke him.

Something is wrong with him. Something is deeply, fundamentally wrong.

Despite his best efforts, she doesn't give him the chance to escape it. She doesn't let him get away that easily, and honestly he's not the least bit surprised. As long as he's known her, she's never been one to give up easily.

"Lucas!"

Riley's exclamation is followed by the car door slamming, and just as he's turning to face her she's there on the curb. She stumbles to stand in front of him, weirdly out of breath for having just jogged from the car and cheeks flushed in a way that's more prominent under the fluorescent above them in the doorway than in the dim lighting of Dave's interior.

She takes a moment to catch her breath, blinking at him and seemingly at a loss for words. But before he can question her, she's speaking again.

"It was my mom. When you saw me outside the repair shop earlier, the way I looked. She had just called, and it didn't go very well." She swallows, pushing some hair behind her ear. "Things with her haven't gone very well lately. For a while, really."

It takes a moment for him to get on the same page as her. The moment of uncertainty at the shop feels like ages ago, time passing in that strange way it does with her where it moves so fast but also seems as though it encompasses multitudes. He can't believe that this morning, they were in Wilmington with a friend he hasn't seen in years. He can't believe it's only been a little under two weeks since she bumped into him and helped him escape the Sundance strip, hopefully forever.

Lucas can't fathom how he's only known her for a couple weeks, when he feels in some core part of himself that he's known her for what has to be forever. The time before she was in his life doesn't feel worth remembering.

He regrets the fact that he made her feel this way, though. Like she has to blurt out her personal issues for some sense of retribution, as if she owes him something. He already hated himself for the things he said to her before Dave broke down, when he felt trapped and lashed out because that's all he knows how to do. Now, knowing that they've clearly stuck with her—that he's created some sort of guilt for her to carry around when she's the last person who deserves it—he can't stand it.

He shakes his head preemptively, letting out a sigh. "Riley, you don't have to—,"

"No, I do. I do. I want to," she corrects. "You were right. You were right when you said that it's much, much easier to be the person asking for an explanation rather than giving it. I've been expecting you to… I wanted you to open up, and I wasn't even willing to do the same. But I want to. Because you were… you did with me, and I trust you—,"

She takes a deep breath, trying so hard to pull it together and find the air to breathe yet still coming across like she's on shaky ground with every word that tumbles out of her mouth. He certainly knows the feeling.

Riley closes her eyes, searching for what she's trying to say. The more her voice trembles, the more pronounced the tingle in his palms grows.

"I just, I know how it feels. I know how it feels to feel like one mistake completely derails everything. I know that so well it's… _paralyzing_. I know how it feels like that mistake defines you, and there's no way for you to come back from it. Like it defines you, and every assumption it leaves marked on you is true. Like you can't escape it, no matter how hard you try."

He doesn't see how she could possibly understand, but he can tell from the way she states the sentiment that she does. It's a deep-rooted understanding, buried securely within both of them regardless of their staggeringly different backgrounds.

Instead, Lucas decides, she doesn't deserve it. How she came to know it so well aside, she is the last person who he thinks should be familiar with the burden of it. Someone like her, who gives so selflessly and compassionately without a second thought, deserves nothing less than perfection. A comfortable existence, filled with fulfillment and laughter and love. There's nothing he believes in more.

He has enough admiration for her sewed into his soul at this point, he could probably give it all to her alone. He wishes he could, if he had any clue how.

"You think it defines you, but it doesn't. I know I need to remember that too, but—I understand." She reaches out and surprises him by taking his arm, impulsively brushing her fingers against his forearm before closing her fingers around his wrist. "I hear you. I'm with you. And it's enough."

The fact that her hand is shaking is unexpected, but also oddly reassuring. Evidence that she is just as unprepared and scared as he is, and somehow that's exactly what he needs to assuage some of his anxiety. Like if she means what she says, and they really are on the same page and that's enough, then maybe there's room for everything else. Maybe there's room for something more.

His palms are stinging as if they've been burned, and he knows the smart thing would be to turn away. He should escape, he should run, before anything has the chance to fall apart. Before he ever gets to the opportunity to destroy it like he does everything else.

But he's never been good at running from Riley Matthews.

"I just need you to know that," she says, her gaze downcast to their feet. She wills herself to lift her head, locking eyes with him and refusing to let his attention go. The words coming from her mouth are so fragile, so delicate, both of them are frozen in the fear that they might shatter them. "I need you to know."

He can feel his heart pounding in his wrist given how tightly she's holding it. He's stunned by how hoarse his own voice sounds when he speaks. "Riley…"

"I'm with you. I hear you." She's simply repeating herself now, tripping over the phrase and almost too choked up to finish. But she powers through them anyway, evidently stuck on making sure he gets the message. "I'm with you. I'm with you."

Her brown eyes are on him, shimmering with tears, and he's suddenly transported back to the first time he saw them. When she ran into him on the strip, desperate for an escape, and offered him one with no terms and conditions required. And every moment since then—how effortlessly they capture his attention, how much they convey with no words at all, how simple it is to get lost in them. She's been with him from the moment she offered him a ride, and not once have those eyes passed judgment on him in the time they've been together since.

"Riley."

She hesitates, letting the energy fill the silence between them again for as brief as it persists. Eyes wide, expression uncertain, mouth parted open slightly with another unspoken declaration of commitment on the tip of her tongue.

More than anything, she is so beautiful. Gentle, breathtaking, the most dangerous thing he's ever known.

"I hear you," he breathes, returning the notion. Hoping she realizes he means it, knowing it's going to take more than empty words to make the point. "I hear you."

Another second of inertia while Riley absorbs this, the static between them practically electric. Even as his palms tingle pointedly in opposition, like usual, he knows their protests are going to be useless.

Then they both move at once, Riley grabbing the front of his jacket and Lucas cupping her face in his hands as they finally collide.

Like so many of his decisions, the choice to come together proves to have a bit of an uneven start. Everything is fumbling—their mouths, their shaky hands, their footsteps as they attempt to get out of the open air and into a space that only the two of them can occupy. Lucas would be embarrassed by how unprepared he feels if he weren't so absolutely consumed by her, only sparing enough mental energy to get his limbs to move as she guides him through the doorway and into the room.

Still, something in him is hesitant. Something in him is holding back, aside from the natural inclination towards reservation that has been engrained him for as long as he can remember. This is a persistent nagging, itching at the back of his mind and promising to occupy his attention as long as he neglects to address it regardless of how distracting she is.

It strikes him as Riley kicks their bags out of the way so she can nudge the door closed behind them, breaking for breath just long enough to give him the chance to think. Even with how unanimous the pull between them felt, even with the way she's looking at him and reaching for him again to pull him back towards her, he needs to know that this is mutual.

He needs the confirmation that this is something she really wants, not just another form of charity.

Riley is a couple steps ahead of him, closing her fingers around his jacket again to pull him back towards her. She leans back against the door and tugs him in her direction, Lucas bracing himself with one hand on the cold metal of the door to keep them both from stumbling. She pulls him into another kiss before he can form the words to speak, and he worries he might not ever find them again.

But he gets his opportunity soon enough. She takes the moment to catch her breath, unsurprising since she was already out of it when she caught up to him on the curb. Only seconds pass, but it feels like an eternity. Lucas licks his lips, trying not to let how close they are or how hot her breath is on his cheeks disrupt his train of thought. He needs the reassurance, or he's never going to let himself get lost in it.

It's a tall enough order as it is, but he figures if Riley requests it—if she gives him the permission to be so close to her and cross this boundary he's never even fathomed treading because she wants him to—then it would be rather rude to deny her.

Once again, he's startled by how raspy his voice sounds when he wills himself to talk. It's as if he's losing it entirely, but given how close they're situated, he supposes the softer they speak the better. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," Riley exhales, not skipping a beat. Like she didn't even have to consider it. Her hands shift from his jacket to his torso, fingers restless against the fabric of his shirt. She nods eagerly, bumping her nose against his. "Yes."

Then she's locking their lips together again, hands closing into fists around his shirt, and this time he feels it. That feeling like adrenaline shoots through him like electricity, causing that tingle to escape from his palms and spread through his whole body. Because she wants to be close to him. She wants him there with her, sharing the space between them until it's practically non-existent. She hears him, she's with him, she _wants_ him.

So, for the first time, he allows himself to want her too.

Lucas brings his hand back up to her face, brushing his thumb against her cheek as they start a new kiss. It's overwhelming how every single movement feels like a wave of new understanding and information that he has to process—the subtle tilt of her head to allow him their lips to meet more easily, the steadily increasing temperature causing him to sweat, the way she steals the oxygen from his lungs in the brief seconds they break apart to foolishly attempt to catch their breath.

He isn't sure he's not going to pass out from lack of oxygen. He isn't sure he's ever going to know how to breathe again after her.

True to her word when she gave him her first lesson what feels like ages ago, however, Lucas finally feels as though he's figured out what the hell to do with himself. As she implied it's some kind of instinct, buried down deep and dormant inside him that suddenly seems to wake up the longer they stay pressed together and she keeps her hands on him. Although he's one hundred percent certain he still has no clue what he's doing, in that moment it doesn't seem to matter. In this new existence with her, none of the usual bullshit seems to mean much anymore.

Riley gently nudges him backwards and steps away from the door, shifting her hands from his waist to his shoulders. She slips her thumbs under the collar of his jacket, tentatively pushing it to the side and beginning to guide it off his shoulders. Part of him instinctively recoils, nearly causing him to pull away from her and put his first and foremost layer of defense securely back in place, but for once his well-trained sense of self-preservation is not the most dominant desire in his psyche. For once, there's something he cares about more than protecting himself.

It wouldn't be the first time he's removed it around her, and he already slipped up and let down his walls. He's been more vulnerable with her in the last two weeks than he's ever been with anyone, so he doesn't see how this is any different. It's just another layer she somehow managed to break through, useless as a defense against her soft charm and gentle touch.

So he lets her push the denim away, knocking down the barrier as he helps her pull it from his arms. It drops to the floor behind him.

For a brief moment, he feels a bout of panic at the sheer sensation of being so open. But the empty space it leaves behind is immediately filled with Riley as she wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling them closer together.

Lucas decides he doesn't miss the denim.

He continues to follow her lead, allowing her guide them back towards the nearest bed. It's ironic, in some ways, that after negotiating multiple awkward situations with only one bed now that they have two again they've suddenly chosen to cave to the former routine. Nothing about it feels awkward. Nothing feels more natural and right than sharing as much with her as he possibly can.

Riley stumbles into a seat on the side of the bed, waiting until he's back down at her level to wrap her arms more securely around him. Lucas leans forward into the embrace, placing a hand on her knee to maintain his balance and venturing his own attempt to deepen their next kiss. Whatever he did, it must've been on the right track, because the sigh that she releases into his mouth is quite possibly the most pleasing sound he's ever heard.

He doesn't know if it's so satisfying because of the nature of it alone, or because he was the cause of it. He was able to make Riley Matthews feel so good she had to vocalize it, and he wants the honor of that privilege for as long as he can have it. He wants to hear it again and again.

Lucas never understood why so many of his classmates spent all their free time engaging in the second most popular pastime for Sundance strip rather than wasting away hours at the bowling alley. Now, enthralled with Riley, it suddenly makes perfect sense.

Her hands are searching again, sliding down his arms to find his. She takes a moment to link their fingers together, squeezing lightly as she guides him towards her waist. Placing his fingers at the hem of her blouse, making a point without any words before she reaches back up to grip his face and initiate another eager kiss.

It's another invitation, and he has to be brave enough to take it. The more layers they remove the more vulnerable the situation becomes, and so much of his consciousness is intrinsically dead set against such a possibility. But he's still lightheaded from the tears he shed on the beach, and he can still hear the hasty admittance of her own issues followed by her declarations of validation echoing around in his skull. The thought alone makes his stomach flip in way completely removed from the physical, and it's that and the heart palpitation he seems to have developed in last twenty minutes that gives him the courage to pursue the unknown.

Lucas tucks his thumbs underneath the cotton of her shirt, hazarding a touch to the soft skin of her stomach. She pauses in kissing him, pressing their foreheads and obviously waiting to see what he does next. Not giving him a nudge in either direction, but ready for either outcome. So it's easier for them to break apart when he begins to push it up her torso with his wrists, Riley seemingly more than happy to help him pull it over her head and tossing it onto the floor beside them.

When he works up the nerve to actually look at her rather than the floor, he feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. Not only because she's so stunning, the most breathtaking thing he can imagine, but because it hits him more pointedly than ever how much trust she's putting in him. To willingly shed her defenses, to give him an increasingly intimate experience of who she is, she's putting so much of herself out there for him to take. Giving him more than he deserves, more than he's earned, demonstrating that unbelievable capacity for generosity since the moment they met. Continuing to believe he deserves it, even if he can't fathom why.

Riley is watching him as he gets lost in her, obviously anticipating some sort of response. A nervous gleam is shimmering in her eyes to replace the tears from earlier, her features torn between the exhilaration of the situation and the unbearable fear of being seen so blatantly.

He knows how scary it is, being known. He can't think of a day where he didn't run from it in one way or another.

She lets out an airy laugh, clasping her hands together anxiously. "What?"

Lucas swallows, suddenly lost for words again. He wants to get rid of that uncertain glimmer in her eyes, to assure her that she's fine exactly as she is even at her most vulnerable. More than fine. Unlike anything else he's ever seen.

He licks his lips, shaking his head lightly.

"Everything."

She doesn't get the chance to question his statement. He doesn't attempt to elaborate, his thoughts buzzing in a million different directions—how this moment between them means everything. How she's gorgeous, unreal, an irresistible force of gravity. How there aren't words to break it down into something comprehensible, so that proclamation has to be enough.

She's everything. She's everything, and somehow, in this moment, she's his.

Lucas moves without thinking, taking her face in his hands to pull her back towards him. Not wanting to waste another second, as if he shed all of his remaining trepidation the instant she elected to trust him enough to shed hers.

Riley responds enthusiastically, accepting his kiss and sliding her hands around him to grip the back of his shirt. She collapses onto the pillows and drags him down with her, forcing him to adjust by climbing fully onto the mattress. Riley takes the opportunity to sit up and pull impatiently on his shirt—expecting the same exposure from him in return for her display of trust.

He's not going to be the one to deny her of it. Lucas straightens up and tugs his shirt over his head with the least amount of hesitation he thinks he's ever had with making a decision, discarding it haphazardly with hers and any other reluctance he think he might be carrying around inside of him.

Riley falls back onto her elbows and gazes up at him, expression suddenly hard to read. It's got traces of the way she's looked at him before, remnants of the numerous gazes she's gifted him throughout the duration of their time together. But it's different too, just a little bit sharper, crafted with a slight edge provided by that unidentifiable quality.

Then she draws them back together, tugging on his arms until he collapses back down next to her and she pulls him practically on top of her.

Closer and more exposed than ever before, Lucas is suddenly aware of how _much_ all of it is. He's concerned about how he feels like he must be suffocating her from how firmly they're pressed together, but given how she hooks her leg around him to make them fit and how she still seems to be pulling on him, still attempting to find ways to get even closer, she can't be too uncomfortable. He's stunned by how hot everything is—feverish skin touching skin, her mouth warm and soft against his, that electric current between them likely so flattened to friction between them it's caught them both ablaze.

He swears she's going to be the death of him. He's always been an inferno, but he's never been up in flames quite like this. He's on fire, burning alive, and he honestly doesn't know if he's going to survive. All he can focus on is her, indescribably lovely and holding onto him so tightly there's no distance left between them at all. Like he's her life preserver, and she doesn't plan on ever, ever letting go.

Then she moves against him, _with_ him, and it's unlike anything he's ever felt.

The groan he releases is unexpected, pure reflex, and he had no idea he was even capable of that kind of sound. But then, he had no idea it was possible to feel like this either. "Riley—,"

She doesn't offer him a response, cutting off his words with another indulgent kiss. He supposes it's alright, really, as he doesn't know what he was intending to say anyway. He just needed to say her name, as if stating it aloud would clarify everything he wants her to hear. To say it for the sake of saying it, like it's the only thing he knows.

For what it's worth, he thinks he could stay there forever. Because somehow in this world the two of them share, he's good. Riley looks at him and she doesn't see a failure. She doesn't see a Sundance nothing. Riley looks at him, as plain as he is and stripped down as he thinks he could be, and she sees something worth letting in. He's valuable, and desirable, and not broken beyond repair—or perhaps he is, but for once it doesn't matter. Because the truth is Riley is broken too, but when the two of them are put together it's like the jagged pieces line up. They're not fixed, not yet, but they're salvageable.

With Riley, he's enough.

He could also stay there forever, however, because he doesn't have a clue what he's supposed to do next. In theory, of course, he knows the avenues this could go down; given how she knots her fingers in his hair and deepens their next kiss, he's fairly certain that's the direction she wants this to go. And he can't fault her that—so many pieces of him want to explore that route too, after being buried and silenced for so long. His heart is pounding in his ears and his wrists and a dozen other places and all he wants to do is match that rhythm with hers, to get to know her in the most intimate and fundamental way possible if she's going to allow him that privilege. If she truly wants him to, like her efforts bring him nearer seem to suggest.

But he also knows that she's coming from a much higher level of expectation than he is, and that lack of preparedness is difficult to shake off. Even in the haze of her and the intoxicating effect she has, he can't shake off the notion that he doesn't have a clue what she needs, what she deserves, and he doesn't want to get this impossible moment with her just to absolutely ruin it. He's so good at messing things up, and he's already used up his do-overs with her.

"Lucas?"

He doesn't know what her prior experience actually entails, but he knows for a fact its more than him and he knows for a fact that he won't compare. However he managed to fool her into thinking he's worth her time isn't going to hold up the moment they tread those waters, and he doesn't think he's ready to risk that. He's not prepared to disappoint her when he's only just getting used to having her as close as he wants.

"Lucas."

Riley's warm hands touching his face snap him out of his own head, her gravity pulling him back down to Earth. She examines him curiously, concern etched in her features as she gently caresses his cheeks.

"Are you okay?"

He's not ready to cross that line with her. He's not ready to lose her. But meeting her gaze, absorbing her presence and gentle touch, he doesn't think he's ready to pull away from her yet either. Not until he's certain she understands just how deeply he appreciates her, how grateful he is to have been let into her world and given the trust to share this level of closeness.

Not until he's done everything he can to make sure she knows that he's with her, too.

Lucas holds her gaze for a moment longer, closing the thin space between them to kiss her again. Only this time he goes slowly, purposefully, attempting to translate everything that words won't express. All that gratitude, all that awe, the way being with her has felt more like home than seventeen years in the same place and five years trapped in constant drift.

Although he was worried that her desires for the evening were divergent from his in a way he wasn't prepared for, Riley doesn't seem at all perturbed by the change of pace. She gives into it wholeheartedly, sinking into the pillows and threading her fingers through his hair. She allows him to slide an arm around her and melts completely into his embrace, like there's no other place she'd rather be.

After a few minutes of settling into this new rhythm, Lucas braves another shift. He pulls apart from her lips and ventures a kiss to the corner of her mouth, quickly realizing that there's so much of her that he hasn't gotten to appreciate properly. So much of her to love, to admire the way she should be, and not enough time in the world.

So he settles on an impossible mission, pressing his lips wherever he can think to go next. Her nose. Her cheek. The ridge of her jaw. He lightly bumps his nose into her chin before drifting lower, starting a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her neck.

He feels her shudder underneath him, and knows he's onto something important. He continues his efforts with extra dedication, sucking along her shoulder as her fingers trace his back.

He may very well be running out of it, but time ceases to be a factor as long as they're intertwined. He doesn't know how long he spends kissing every inch of her he can reach, lost in the softness of her touch and the taste of her skin and the melody of her breathing and exhales and the occasional sigh.

It isn't until he's traveled across her collarbone and has returned to the other side of her neck that she disrupts the pattern. He must hit a sweet spot of some kind because she physically reacts when he kisses just below her jaw, lightly digging her nails into his shoulder and tugging on his hair with another soft whimper.

" _Lucas_ ," she breathes, the hint of a plead in her voice. He doesn't know what for, but he's certain that his name has never sounded so good. He's never liked it, but coming from her lips—sounding so sweet and satisfying and _needed_ —he thinks it must be downright holy.

He finishes his exploration and returns back to her lips, hovering over them for half a second before Riley impatiently brings them back together again. It feels like coming home, and he finds it crazy how she can become so intimately familiar to him in such a short amount of time.

She accepts a couple more pecks before prompting a transition of her own, carefully shifting out from under him. He props himself onto his elbow to give her the room to move, surprised when she lightly nudges him onto his side. He defers to her and rolls onto his back as she climbs on top of him, hair falling over her shoulder and tickling his face as she dips down to kiss him again.

From the way she handles him, it's more than evident that Riley has a mission of her own. She takes her time with him, finding his hand on the mattress and locking their fingers together as she crafts slow, indulgent kisses into his mouth. He hopes his earlier efforts were effective, because she's far more skilled at this than he is, and with each movement of her lips on his, he feels like he receives her message crystal clear.

 _She trusts him_. A squeeze of her hand. _She believes in him._ A hum into his mouth. _She cares about him. She wants him. She chooses him._

Perhaps that's what finally allows the feeling to break through. Considering how little he's known it in his life he's amazed he recognizes it at all, but as Riley kisses affirmations into him he suddenly feels the notion more strongly than he thinks he's known anything before.

This, Lucas is certain, is what it feels like to be loved.

Riley draws out their last kiss until she can't breathe, pulling apart from him with a sharp gasp. Lucas instinctively brings a hand up to ground her, brushing her cheek before winding his fingers in her hair. She drops her forehead against his, continuing to exhale against his lips as she nudges their noses together. He wishes he could give her some of his own oxygen, if he had any left to give.

She lets her eyes flutter open, meeting his in the stillness and really taking him in. Letting her gaze linger, soft and captivating as always, before a faint smile blooms across her face. Looking down at him, face flushed, breathless perhaps permanently, she has never looked so beautiful.

"Lucas," she whispers, brushing her thumb against the corner of his mouth. Delicately, tenderly, like he's something precious worth handling with care. "Lucas James Friar."

Yes, she's guaranteed to be the thing that kills him.

Riley makes to get up, and he almost he reaches out to stop her. He's just getting familiar with her proximity, her warmth, and he doesn't want her to go away. But she doesn't move too far anyway, simply crawling back to give herself the room to stretch comfortably across him. She shifts slightly onto her side, slouching down and laying her head against his chest.

Lucas brings his hand up and she meets him halfway without a word, interlacing their fingers and resting their joined hands against his torso. He wraps his other arm around her and lets his fingers detangle their way through her hair, still somewhat amazed that they're allowed to be here. That they're allowed to be this close, that she's his to touch and admire by some accidental twist of fate.

For a bit, they settle into the quiet. Settling in the aftermath, existing in this timeless, lawless space they've created together.

"I think it's just easy to forget," Riley says hesitantly.

It takes a moment for Lucas to remember how to use words. When he speaks it's barely above a murmur, both of them treading carefully in the calm. Not wanting to disrupt the tranquility, or accidentally upset the peace. "What?"

"I don't know," she admits, exhaling half a laugh. "The idea that there's always more? Like, things are so much bigger than they feel when you're trapped in yourself. When you get into that place, and it feels like the walls are caving in and there's no exit, so why do you even—?"

Whatever the rest of the thought was going to be, she doesn't share it. She adjusts restlessly instead, tucking her head against him and taking a deep breath. Then she lets it out, breath warm on his skin as she exhales the rest of it too. All the insecurity, the doubt, the complex things she was attempting to pick apart.

Even if she's being incoherent, he thinks he gets what she means. Not necessarily the specifics, but the general emotion that she's trying to convey. He knows he's felt it plenty of times—basically non-stop for the last few years—but it's also a credit to how well he feels like they're becoming at reading one another.

"Never mind." She rests her cheek back against his chest, focusing on playing with his fingers. "I don't know what I'm trying to say. I'm just rambling."

Lucas lets his hand drift from her hair to her back, lightly trailing his fingers across her shoulder. "That's okay."

Riley pauses, absorbing the sentiment. It's not the first time he's told her he doesn't mind the way she goes off on tangents, but he's always surprised by the way the notion seems to catch her off guard. He wonders how often she must have been dismissed to learn that her voice isn't worth hearing. How often she must have been rejected, or corrected, or ignored entirely.

He can't imagine not wanting to hear her talk. Brief as his experience has been, he's pretty sure that his favorite thing in the world is when she talks to him.

After a second, another soft smile graces her lips. He's grateful that if he can't successfully convey any other message, the one she receives is the promise that it's okay to not know what to say. It's okay to speak even if you don't really have anything to say at all.

"I just… you don't even realize it, you know?" She takes another moment to compose her thoughts, closing her eyes and absentmindedly pressing a kiss to his skin. It amazes him how liberal she is with her affection, how small gestures of fondness seem like an intrinsic part of her way of functioning. "What might be coming around the corner, how quickly things in your life can change. And there's no way to know, no way to see it coming, so you have to just… believe. You have to put a certain amount of trust in the universe that it will look out for you and that things will be okay. Even if you can only give it a scrap, even if it feels like you don't have any left to give. Because you have no idea when something will change everything. You don't know that in an instant, everything can turn around completely."

Lucas almost opens his mouth and disrupts the quiet. He nearly points out without thinking that he's never thought about it that way because he can't afford it. There's not enough time to waste thinking about how things could change when you're literally scrounging to get by, sleeping on the side of the road and doing odd jobs for people for a few bucks and scamming establishments just to have something to eat for the day. He's never thought about the universe looking out for him because he knows it never has, and he can't grant it even a fraction of his sanity when he needs every last piece of it just to make it to the next day. Just to survive.

But then, he discovers, that's exactly the problem. That's exactly her point. Lucas is surviving—he's not _living_. He's scraping day-to-day and he doesn't even know why, drifting through life the same way that he drifts from place to place. He has no belief and so he has no purpose, existing more out of a sense of obligation and perhaps an ounce of spite rather than because he wants to. Rather than there being some greater purpose out there waiting for him that makes the struggle feel worth it.

He used to have it, a glimmer of what that driving force was. He used to have belief in the universe, and then it got crushed under all of the bullshit and the weight of everyone else's choices and opinions and perceptions of him. And since then, he's never bothered to give it another chance.

"It's like, I had no idea. I was just going, moving for the sake of moving, and then I stopped at the right place and the right time. I never saw it coming, but then the universe made its point." She lifts her head, propping her chin on his chest and meeting his eyes. They're still alight with that certain something that he thinks only exists in her, this rare kind of spark that's all her own and somehow intensifies when she looks at him like she is right now.

"Then I met you."

All of his homegrown and deeply bred cynicism aside, he recognizes that she's right. Before all of this, before the day he decided to drop in and pay Asher a visit until he inevitably floated back into obscurity, he had no plan. He had no future. He had no belief in anything, just moving for the sake of moving.

Then he met her, and he can't even wrap his head around how much has changed since. Suddenly, she's asking him about what he would've studied, what he wanted to do, the things he could've been. He's expanding his horizons, escaping the world with no exits, looking towards the next day not as a means to an end but as something filled with possibilities.

He still doesn't know how much he believes in the universe, or how much trust he has to give it. But when he looks at her, it's not hard to figure out where all of his hope is going.

Lucas doesn't care much for the universe, but he has endless belief in Riley Matthews.

Speech continues to evade him, so all he can do is nod. He nods and offers her a light smile, hoping that she gets that he understands what she's saying. That he feels it all too, in some ways so much that he doesn't know how to process it. That maybe with more time and a little more patience he'll find the words, that with more practice he'll become as skilled at expressing everything he wants her to know through small touches and declarations and moments of kindness as she is.

Riley sits up slightly to give him another kiss, soft and slow and simple in its sentiment. He returns it, soaking up the freedom of being able to do so. Enjoying the comfort that encompasses the two of them, sharing in their own unique universe. Allowing each other to exist just exactly as they are.

For now, it's enough.

* * *

Lucas doesn't even remember falling asleep.

All things considered, it's a relatively impressive feat. On the one hand, given all of the developments of the night—from the unexpected crying to, well, everything else—it's not a surprise he was exhausted. He can't recall the last time he cried considering how constantly ridiculed the sheer notion was on the strip, let alone in front of another person. Then everything after that was wholly uncharted territory, and such bold exploration requires a tremendous amount of energy. With all of that in mind, the fact that he drifted off so easily makes total sense.

On the flip side, he doesn't think his ease of rest has anything to do with that. He's turned in for the night emotionally drained plenty of times on the road, only to find he couldn't get a minute of sleep. No, he's more convinced that it has to do with the fact that he finally feels _relaxed_ , like the pinching ache that holds residency in his shoulder blades has evaporated overnight. He's no longer in flight or fight, he's no longer on the run. For some reason, his frantic mind has finally decided things are settled. Things are safe. There's no more need to get up and go.

The reason, of course, is more than obvious.

When he starts to rouse and regain his bearings, the first thing he's aware of is her. Perhaps because the presence of someone else so close to him is so new, he's quickly aware of all the ways they're still somehow connected even though they've shifted during the night—her leg draped over his, her hand resting on his back, her head nuzzled into his upper arm.

They're not all tangled up, but they're still with one another. It's secure, without needing to be stated.

Lucas opens his eyes, adjusting to the dimly lit room and peering at the empty, perfectly made bed across from him. Beyond it, slivers of grey are glowing through the drawn curtains to signal a new day. Time to keep going, to face the next thing, to see whatever the universe has in store for him next.

Riley's hand twitches in her sleep, drifting off his back and to his side. She feels her knuckles bump his waist, before her fist relaxes back into a soft touch against his skin. Still searching for him subconsciously, as if there's anywhere he could've gone.

He decides they don't need to rush to greet the day quite yet.

Instead he adjusts, turning from his stomach onto his side so he can face her. Despite his efforts to move carefully and not disturb her, it's a somewhat difficult task given all the small ways they're touching. She inhales sharply and tucks her head into the pillow underneath her, taking a moment before rolling onto her back and flopping her arm out across the rest of the mattress with a flourish.

Even half-asleep, she is so effortlessly endearing. In fact, with drowsiness lowering her inhibitions and keeping her from second-guessing every move she makes, her charm is even more powerful.

Riley exhales another sigh and lets her eyes flutter open, blinking the sleep out of them and staring at the ceiling. Then she tilts her head to look at him, a sleepy smile immediately blossoming onto her face when they lock eyes.

"Hi," she whispers. He feels his heart palpitations start up all over again.

"Hey," he responds, matching her tone. She flips back onto her side and inches towards him, narrowing the space between them as she instinctively finds his hand to link their fingers together. Considering he doesn't feel the usual urge to avoid such close contact, the comfort feels like a breakthrough in some ways. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

Riley shakes her head lightly, assuring him that he shouldn't worry. Her focus is elsewhere anyway, the hand not holding his currently tracing the line of his jaw.

He's not sure what to say, so he lets the silence linger. Silence has never been uncomfortable with her, and that feels even more true in the serenity of the morning. He situates more comfortably into the mattress and appreciates the softness of her fingertips on his face, dedicating his attention to pressing his thumb across her knuckles.

"What are you thinking for today?"

She hums, contemplating the question. As if they don't already have an itinerary they've been far too inconsistent about in the last few days. Lucas knows that if it weren't for him, she would likely already be back in New York by now. Free from traveling, back to the rest of the world who needs her and has a right to her so much more than he does.

Even still, he wouldn't change a thing. And he feels very little remorse.

"I don't know," she says. Her gaze drifts from his lips to meet his eyes, another content smile floating across her features. "What if we don't do anything at all?"

He's sure it's not a serious offer, but she doesn't realize how tempting such a scenario sounds. "You have to get home eventually."

She makes an unimpressed noise, crinkling her nose. He can't help but laugh, her smile brightening the instant she hears it.

"I mean it, it could be nice. A nice change of pace." She eliminates whatever remaining distance there is between them, slowly tangling their legs and nestling her head into the crook of his neck. Her hand slides up from his face and into his hair, hugging him close and keeping their interlaced hands safely tucked against her chest. "A little break from all of the other nonsense. No driving, no travel hysteria, no lackluster food consumption—"

"Well, that's on you. I'm not the one with an addiction to Applebee's."

Her to turn laugh, although the pout that crosses her expression feigns displeasure at the comment. Lucas thinks it's one the most adorable things he's ever seen, so he makes up for the dig with some affection of his own. When he nuzzles his head against hers and presses a kiss to her nose the unconvincing frown immediately melts into a grin, another giggle escaping her.

Maybe he could learn from her. Maybe he could get used to giving out his fondness a little more freely, especially if it's directed towards her.

"Would be something. A do-nothing day." She pulls back so she can get a better look at him, returning her grip to his face and rubbing her thumb along his cheek bone. "Just you, and me, and…"

She loses her train of thought, getting lost in him. She shakes her head wordlessly.

"You," she breathes. Accenting the point with a hint of disbelief, like she still isn't convinced that this is actually real.

Lucas wonders if she knows that he would follow her anywhere. Getting in her car was never about a destination, and it's long since stopped being about a quick getaway. The reason he's still on this journey isn't because of the sights or the scenery, and every wonderful aspect of it is overflowing with her. He's never been all that interested in New York, but he'd walk the two thousand miles between the Big Apple and the strip if it was with her.

So if she wants to go, then they'll go. If she wants to take her time, they'll take their time. If she wants to cease being known to the rest of the world and spend the rest of their lives hidden away in the middle of nowhere exploring one another, then he's hers to discover.

As long as he gets to be with her, he doesn't give a damn about the destination.

"Whatever you want," he murmurs. He nudges their foreheads together, a bit surprised but not at all disappointed when she instinctively gives him a quick kiss.

Riley closes her eyes, chewing her lip thoughtfully. Obviously contemplating, absentmindedly weaving her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. "Where are we supposed to be going today?"

"Not sure. I think D.C."

"Oh, then we have to go," she declares, caught somewhere between resignation and genuine enthusiasm. She meets his eyes. "We have to get you to the Smithsonian. I know that's important to you."

It's something he was looking forward to, yes, but if the alternative is more time alone with her then the decision is hardly an obvious one. All in all, the Smithsonian ranks far lower on his list of important things.

"I think I'd survive another day."

"I know, but I want you to see it." She falls back onto the pillows again, loosening her hold on him. She taps him lightly on the nose. "You have no idea how fun it is to watch you see all these new things. It's so cute. The way your eyes light up, and the sheer fascination—,"

He can feel his cheeks flushing. He can get used to the blatant affection, but it's going to take some time for his natural order to adjust to it. "So that's a yes to getting up, then."

"My motives are entirely selfish."

Given how overwhelmingly generous she is, he figures she can afford to be selfish every once and a while. And he's certainly not going to be the thing that stands in the way of it.

"Selfishness granted," Lucas says, pushing himself onto his elbow.

He hovers over her to give her a kiss, Riley erupting into giddy laughter. She pulls him deeper into it, losing a few more minutes of daylight to the allure of each other before they finally manage to climb out of bed.

They take their time getting ready, no sense of urgency permeating their travels anymore. Lucas hops into the shower first before swapping out with her, somewhat uncertain what to do with himself without some sort of pressure dominating every waking second. He goes to the window and pulls back the curtains, letting in the sunlight and squinting out into the green Virginian summer.

It will always be odd to absorb the new terrain of another state and recognize that he's no longer in Texas. He's so far away from the place he thought he would be trapped his whole life, and it's easy to spiral with that strange dose of reality. Even though he's happy about it, even though he can't think of any other way he would want things to turn out, his mind has yet to accept it as truth. No matter how many leaps and bounds he makes, his brain is never going to believe that he's capable of being anything else.

Faintly, Lucas can hear Riley singing to herself in the shower. It's grounding, pulling him out of his own head and back into the present. He smiles to himself as he steps away from the window, finding a shirt to wear and focusing on becoming presentable.

She emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, giving him a beam as she passes. They continue their typical dance around one another as they get ready, but there's a softer edge to it now than before. Now it's colored with familiarity, their routine with one another actually belonging to the two of them since they elected to acknowledge whatever the energy between them was meant to be.

Lucas is just finishing brushing his teeth and gathering his things together for the road when their gravity goes back into effect. He feels her before he sees her, Riley's hands lightly ghosting over his hips as she wraps her arms around his torso. He can't help but smile as she hugs him from behind, pressing a kiss into his shirt before resting her head between his shoulder blades. He relaxes into the embrace, placing a hand on her arms and letting his eyes flutter closed.

For a moment they hold in it, both soaking up as much of that shared quiet and safety as they can in preparation for facing the real world again.

"You sure it's a no on doing nothing?" he asks teasingly, rubbing his thumb over her wrist.

Riley doesn't respond right away, adjusting her head so that she can peer at him over his shoulder. She blinks innocently and he tilts his head at her, raising his eyebrows.

Then she sighs, kissing his shoulder until she works up the will power to pull away.

"D.C. awaits. I have to lend some credibility to my decision-making. Besides," she says, pausing in the doorway. She takes a moment to examine him, fondness and that other unidentified glimmer in her eyes shading her features. "There's always tonight."

Lucas has no idea how she manages to always catch him off guard. He feels his palms tingle again, clearing his throat and trying not to overthink all the possibilities of what that could entail. In most cases with her, he's learning it's best when he doesn't think at all.

"Maybe so."

Riley nods, accenting the point. A light smirk graces her features as she flounces out of sight.

About ten minutes later they're all geared up to leave, bags packed back in the trunk and Riley having tidied up in every minute way she can think of as she does one final sweep of the place. He waits for her approval that they're clear to head out, hanging by the door and fidgeting with the car keys.

She flips her ponytail off her shoulder and huffs dramatically, holding her arms out to indicate that she's done all that she can. It's not until she's back in front of him and reaching for the doorknob that he suddenly is gripped with hesitancy, seized by the sensation that they can't leave quite yet.

He reaches out and touches her arm, causing her to stop and glance at him over her shoulder. "Wait."

Riley doesn't question him, moving away from the door and swiveling to face him. She doesn't fight him when he closes his fingers around her wrist and gently guides her towards him. She gazes at him warmly as he takes her in, trying to commit everything about her to memory.

Lucas caresses her cheek, gently thumbing her lower lip. Absorbing every facet of their serendipitous connection, not taking the privilege to get to be with her so closely and so comfortably for granted.

"Just want to make sure I remember."

Riley's smile is so natural, it's killer. She leans into his touch, tilting her head to kiss his palm before reaching up to take his hand. Fingers intertwined, she closes the distance between them and stands on her tip-toes to press their lips together.

Then she leads them back into the real world, Lucas following without hesitation.

* * *

"Oh, here's something worth checking out," Riley says, leaning forward across the table and tilting her phone to show him the traveler's blog she's scrolling through on her phone. "One of these highly regarded vintage diners might be fun for dinner."

Lucas finds it somewhat amusing that she's looking up future places for them to eat as they're literally sitting down to enjoy a meal. It's another unassuming dive off the highway, yet it's relatively bustling for being so non-descript. He figures it's likely the beach crowd, stopping for a bite before heading back up and down the coast after a weekend by the shores.

More than that, it's not Applebee's. So at least Riley is exhibiting growth.

" _This_ one claims it has the best grilled cheese in the state," she says emphatically. The statement is effective at capturing his interest, and her laugh at his reaction is more than worth the embarrassment of being so predictable.

Lucas commits the address and name of the place to memory, storing it in the back of his mind in case Riley forgets on their trek up the coast later tonight. He's more than content to let her have control of the reins, but if she's going to dangle state-famous grilled cheese in front of him then he's going to insist that she follow through.

She focuses back on the screen, an odd expression crossing her features momentarily. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Huh."

"What?"

Riley blinks, glancing up at him and shaking off the daze. "Oh, nothing. Sorry. It's just, this blogger is a family friend and it looks like—I think he may have been here recently. In this general area."

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah, it's… hold on one second. I'm sorry."

He continues to find the way she's constantly apologizing a bit concerning. He decides he better start brainstorming ways to help her learn that she doesn't need to do that around him. "No worries. Take your time."

She smiles gratefully, pouring her focus into typing something on her phone.

Lucas gives her the theoretical space, letting his gaze drift and observing the rest of the diner. It's commonplace, nothing really standing out and bearing the same four or five pictures of Elvis Presley he's seen so often in establishments like this they feel burned into his memory bank. Their fellow patrons are nothing special, an assortment of middle class families enjoying their fleeting summer and elderly folks who are probably regulars of the joint. In some ways, it feels nice to blend into the mundane.

Then, he has another one of those haunting glimpses. One of the patrons a few booths down from them shuffles in his seat, providing just enough of a view of his profile that it sends a bolt of adrenaline shooting through him before the stranger disappears behind the seatback again.

He must've made it up. There's no reason that he would be in Virginia, just as there was no cause for him to be in North Carolina. Lucas has to be looking for issues that aren't actually there, his guilty conscience so embittered at how gloriously his circumstances have turned around in the last week or so that it's driving him literally insane.

Regardless, it just goes to show that he's never truly going to be free. No matter how far away he gets, how far he runs, how miraculously he manages to convince a good person like Riley to trust him. All of the secrets he's hiding and all of the trouble he's so desperately trying to repress _will_ catch up to him—it's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when.

"What do you think you're going to do?"

Riley's question jars him out of the internal panic. He jumps slightly, locking eyes with her across the table. "Huh?"

"When you finally get to New York," Riley elaborates. She takes a sip of her water, propping her chin on her hand and cocking her head. The question feels so innocent compared to the rabbit hole he was tumbling down in his own head. "Like you said, we have to get there eventually. When we do, what do you think you might want to do?"

He hadn't given the notion much thought, if any. Considering he's been consistently expecting the other shoe to drop and for him to somehow end up abandoning her hatchback and reluctantly striking out on his own, the idea of actually making it to such a large city and staying a while didn't feel worth contemplating.

But now, with the way everything has changed, maybe he should. He certainly doesn't see himself waltzing out of her life by choice, which implies that New York is an inevitable eventuality. And the query is an effective enough distraction, the comfort of her genuine interest in him assuaging the irrational fear.

Old habits are hard to break, but he tries to put his doubt aside and fathom the possibilities. He supposes he could pull an Asher, getting a job at an overpriced diner in the midst of the city that probably pays the same rate for more work. He could set out to write the great American novel, if he wasn't terrible with words and there weren't enough pieces of literature centered on pathetic, down-on-their-luck white boys riddled with self-hatred.

Lucas thinks about his education, and suddenly a spark of inspiration hits him. He remembers how invigorating it felt to spend an afternoon on Alabama State's campus, surrounded by curiosity and opportunity and so much knowledge at his fingertips it made him dizzy. It might be nice to study and get his GED, at least secure one diploma under his belt before he decides if he wants to go in search of another.

He's only ever felt useful doing two things—helping animals, and kissing Riley Matthews. He's relatively positive there's no career in the latter, but he could maybe ponder the former. With all the books he skimmed on animal behavior, he figures there has to be a degree out there somewhere that trains you to handle and care for them.

It's the most thought he's given his potential in such a long time, and the practice of doing so is sort of making him lightheaded. Too much hope at once is a dangerous game to play, so he settles for the truth and offers her a timid shrug.

"I don't know."

Riley absorbs this, examining him curiously. She's the closest person he has in his life, knowing him now more intimately than anyone else, and yet she's still trying to figure him out. He's uncertain whether his propensity for being so difficult to relate to is due to his upbringing, or if perhaps he has some natural ability to be evasive without even trying.

"That's okay," she says encouragingly, bubbly enthusiasm reignited. "There's so many different choices, it'll take some time to get a feel for it. You'll figure it out."

He nods, dipping his head down. He's startled when he feels her touch his hand, reaching across the table to place hers on top of his. She gives him a gentle smile as she twists their fingers together.

"We'll figure it out."

One small change of words somehow makes all the difference. Lucas mirrors her smile, nodding again and squeezing her hand in return.

Riley's eyes flit behind him, clocking their approaching waiter. She glances down at their menus and her smile widens, that mischievous twinkle back in her eyes as she disconnects their hands and takes his menu from him.

"Hey, I wasn't done with that."

"Now you are," she says playfully, lightly knocking their joined menus on the surface of the table and lining them up neatly at the edge. Then her hands find his again, prodding at his forearms. "We're going adventuring today, cowboy. If we're certain there will be excellent grilled cheese in our imminent future, then we're going to be brave right now and shake things up. Try something we maybe wouldn't before. We're embracing change, in all of its forms."

Leave it to her to find new ways to shake up his world order. But he's hardly going to complain. She is the grandest change he's ever experienced aside from his decision to leave the Sundance strip in the first place, and with every twist and turn with her he's never regretted it.

Where she leads, he will follow. So he takes her hands, offering her a soft smile.

"Okay."

* * *

The matter of when is far sooner than Lucas expects.

He does his best to shake off the sense of dread still lingering from the strange moment in the diner. He makes a concerted effort to focus his attention on Riley, on their conversations, as he figures that's the place his focus deserves to be. He's well aware that fixating on an anxious thought only makes it grow stronger, so he tries not to give it the power and stay grounded in the present.

He knocked down his walls, and now he has to be okay with the vulnerability that comes with the aftermath. Considering he's with Riley, he thinks maybe he could be.

When they get up to leave, he only tosses one haphazard glance in the direction of his earlier hallucination in an attempt to check his bases. But he can't get a very good look, so he forces himself to believe what he's been telling himself for the last two weeks. That his mind his playing tricks on him, that there's nothing to be afraid of, that the only thing he should be concerned about is what he intends to do next and whether or not Riley continues to be content with his company.

The further they get from the diner and in pursuit of the next adventure, the better Lucas feels. It's easy to find comfort in Dave's interior, the atmosphere familiar and the effort of driving giving his nervous hands something to do. Riley is chattering on as she always does, an expert at eliciting smiles from him and completely unaware of the fact that she puts him so at ease. She directs his mental energy towards music, cycling through Beatles songs on shuffle and prompting him to guess what song it is within the first five seconds of the track.

For a blissful, fleeting moment, Lucas feels content. He feels at home.

Then a siren disrupts their calm, a cruiser following behind them and flagging them down.

Riley jumps, glancing over her shoulder to get a better look. She frowns, making a face. "That's weird. They can't be after us, can they?"

What she doesn't realize is that this isn't any ordinary highway patrol. She simply sees another vehicle of the law, but when Lucas glances in the rearview and sees the peeling olive paint and somewhat dated flashers he sees the end of the line.

He blinks, and it doesn't go away. It's still trailing along behind them, blipping their siren to get their attention.

He's not losing his mind. He's not making it up. And now, it's finally caught up to him.

"I don't think you were doing anything wrong," Riley states in indignation. She opens her glove compartment, starting to gather her vehicle registration. "Hopefully this will be quick—,"

Despite how it had started to ebb away, Lucas is suddenly consumed with panic. The most prominent kind, the pure terror that strains at his upper back and steals his ability to function. The kind that pushes him to bad decisions, the worst ones, the ones that he can never truly escape.

It's a frenzy that causes him to run, so that's what he does. He doesn't pull off to the shoulder like an obedient, lawful citizen would. He doesn't heed the warning of the siren. Instead he keeps driving, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and making an effort to pass the vehicle in front of them.

Riley lifts her head from the paperwork she's sorting through when she realizes they're not stopping. She blinks, tilting her head to look at him. "Lucas?"

He can't focus on her right now. All he can focus on is getting out, getting away, jumping lanes to pass another couple vehicles and put more distance between them and their pursuer.

Naturally, such a blatant disregard for the law isn't going to fly. The flagging becomes an active pursuit as the cruiser flips on their siren, veering around another car and beginning the chase after them. This morning he was existing in what felt like a fantasy, one of those dreams he used to have on the off-chance that he got a decent enough sleep to allow for it.

Now, the dream is over. He's back in reality, and it's reminding him full force how much it hates his guts.

Riley is understandably not on the same page. Her eyes widen as she's suddenly thrown into the chase sequence of a pathetic action movie, swiveling around with a start as another car blares their horn at them. "Lucas, what are you doing?"

He hates the fear in her voice. He hates that it's there because of him, but the only alternative is to forfeit and he can't do that. The universe has tricked him into an impossible choice, and all he knows is that he can't go back. He can't go back to the desolation of the strip and the crushing certainty of being nothing.

"I'm sorry, Riley," he stammers, alarmed by how his voice cracks. He doesn't really sound like himself, suddenly a harsher, less appealing version of who he thinks he could be. Like all the rough edges have sharpened back to blades despite how hard he worked to wear them away. Despite the painstaking wish that he could be something different. "I'm sorry, but I can't—,"

There's a flash of fear as another car swerves in front of them, apparently deciding their good Samaritan act of the day is going to be to help run them off the road. Lucas reacts just in time and Riley shrieks, screwing her eyes shut and looking away in the off chance that he's not quick enough. The siren is still wailing obtrusively in their wake.

"Lucas, stop."

His mouth is bone dry. "I—,"

"Lucas, please," she begs, reaching out and gripping his hand on the steering wheel. "Stop!"

Glancing at her, seeing the horror in her features, he knows he's going to have to surrender. Because pushing every piece of himself to the limit is one thing, but he's not going to drag her down with him. If he's finally going to be burned to ashes, then there's no way he's going to let her be an accidental casualty.

So in spite of every ounce of survivalist instinct in him, he gives up the fight. He takes his foot off the gas and begins their compliant shift to the shoulder, attempting to ignore the angry honks of other drivers passing by and the pain building in the back of his throat.

They roll to a stop and Lucas puts them in park, not able to do anything else but stare at his hand on the gear shift. He can't move, he can't think, fear of the inevitable sending him into paralysis.

Somewhere behind them, he can hear the tell-tale crunch of gravel as another vehicle pulls off the roadway. Riley lifts her hand and clicks on their hazards, mirroring his sense of trepidation even though she doesn't fully understand where it's coming from.

A car door slams. Lucas closes his eyes, wishing there was another solution. Wishing things had been different. Wishing every part of him would stop trembling and instead evaporate into oblivion so there's nothing left to face. There's nothing more to say.

He jolts instinctively when he feels her touch the back of his hand, back in defense mode and pulling away. When he opens his eyes Riley is staring at him, hand still hovering over his, searching for an explanation he doesn't think he can give.

A curt knock on the driver's side window disrupts their tacit exchange. Heart pounding out of his chest and threatening to break free, Lucas turns away from Riley and rolls down the glass to confront the unavoidable.

He can't remember the last time he saw Zay Babineaux before the day he left the strip with Riley. It's been years, what feels like ages, and both of them have grown and changed so much in that time he figures that seeing him again should be staggering. As though he should be completely unrecognizable.

But there are some things you don't outgrow, and some features that will always remain the same. So when he locks eyes with his former best friend, it's like all of the adrenaline is drained from his system and replaced with a thrumming, insistent ache. His face is more angular, having shed any remaining baby fat long ago. His essence is more mature, a trimmed and stylish beard doing more than enough to age him up. Yet his dark brown eyes are the same as they always were—sharp, observant, a persistent glimmer of mischief forever present in his expression.

Only this time, it's far overpowered by disappointment. A Sundance classic, the most unifying emotion he thinks they know.

And it's all dedicated to him.

"Long time, no see," he says flatly, not betraying anything else. Lucas wills himself to disappear, to drop into the earth and never exist again.

Riley absorbs the exchange, frantically working to try and catch up to this turn of events. Working overtime to click together whatever puzzle pieces of his history she has, frustrating and likely worryingly coming up short. "Is something wrong, officer?"

"Oh, so you don't know," Zay says, a hint of interest laced through his words. He turns his gaze back to Lucas, quirking an eyebrow. "I figured Lucas would've filled you in, if you were so compliant in his desperate escape. But then, I suppose he's really good at forgetting to tell people things."

His cheeks are burning. He can't even fathom looking at Riley, knowing the confusion and hurt that is bound to be coloring her features.

So he begrudgingly looks to Zay again, swallowing in spite of how it suddenly hurts. "What do you want, Zay?"

For a long moment, there's nothing but silence. The uncomfortable type, where the tension feels so heavy it feels as though he's going to crumble under it.

Then Zay steps back, giving him an unimpressed look.

"Think you'll want to step out of the vehicle, sir," he says, only it's not an invitation. It's a demand. "Think you and I have a lot to discuss."

* * *

Lucas doesn't think there is any grander form of punishment than disappointment.

When he was younger, before the bad period, it used to literally make him sick. If he messed up on an assignment or misbehaved in a way that earned that critical eye from a teacher or the parents of his friends—or even worse, a verbal declaration of the fact—he would get this wave of nausea and seconds later be sprinting to the trash can. Some of his teachers used to tell his grandmother that she should get him checked out, that such a physical stress response certainly wasn't normal and likely indicative of a much greater internal or environmental factor impacting his development. But it was the Sundance strip, where emotional health is neither accessible nor a priority, so he simply learned to stifle the visible weakness over years of practice.

Still, it didn't make him a very popular kid at the time. Except with Asher, whose anxiety also gave him an uneasy stomach, so perhaps there is a twisted silver lining to every persistent dark cloud.

Right now, it's difficult to find. Lucas keeps his eyes on the gravel as Zay saunters back over from his cruiser, having done them the courtesy of turning off his flashers. He already feels humiliated enough, he doesn't need a whole audience along the highway tuning in to watch.

Disappointment is always doubly painful when its coming from someone you admire. Although he doesn't throw up when he tentatively lifts his gaze to lock eyes with his former best friend, the wave of nausea comes regardless and sets off the tingling in his palms.

He wishes they wouldn't—it's too late for their warnings to mean anything. He willingly stepped into eternal damnation, and now he has to take the torture.

"I'll give you one thing, you're slippery." Zay jots something down on his notepad before flipping it closed, storing it back in his shirt pocket. "I mean, all the way to the east coast? That's a dedicated escape, I'll give you that much. No one can say you're not determined."

For whatever reason, Lucas can't stop staring at the nametag pinned to his shirt. Sleek but cheap gold, an itchy kind of familiar from all the times he saw ones just like it growing up. The name _Babineaux_ pressed into the metal, offering some kind of authority just from the fact that it's branded into something that seems permanent.

It's ironic considering how much Zay used to resent them. How he always swore up and down that would never be him, as if there was any other career to pursue on the strip that meant anything.

They used to always say they were going to be the ones who got out. That it would be the two of them striking out and escaping the mediocrity, pursuing the greater unknown and their own unlimited potential together.

And in some ways, Lucas supposes, they did. Because here they are, thousands of miles away from home, only they're standing opposite one another rather than facing the unknown in solidarity. Opposite sides of the line, opposite sides of the law, suddenly divergent in a way that two best friends were never supposed to be.

Lucas knows it's his fault. He did that, and he doesn't think there's any way to fix it.

"So, what? Is that it, then?" He stuffs his hands in his pockets, attempting to come off as aloof. "Is this where you cuff me and drag me all the way back to the strip?"

Zay rolls his eyes. "If I were going to do that, I would've done it the second you stepped out of the vehicle. Especially given that you're a confirmed flight risk."

"I don't think you would really have the grounds," he says vaguely, searching for ways to buy himself time. Scanning for the exits, looking for the loopholes that have gotten him out of trouble a thousand times before. It's so used to it at this point, it's basically as easy as breathing. "We're so far out of your jurisdiction, and the statute of limitations has definitely run out—,"

"Don't talk at me like I'm stupid! You think you know the job better than I do? You really gonna stand there and try to legal jargon your way out of things as if you even understand a word you're saying?"

Considering Zay is the one with the badge and gun, the point is loud and clear. Lucas grimaces, avoiding his eyes and trying to ignore the way he raised his voice. Trying not to be baited and stoop to his level, even though he inarguably has the higher ground.

Dave's passenger door opens and Riley emerges from the vehicle, standing behind the door and observing them cautiously. Likely concerned by the volume, still attempting to put puzzle pieces together and probably wondering if this dynamic of theirs is going to end with him being carted off by the authorities. Given that he's refused to tell her anything about that part of his history, he can't blame her for being so confused.

He wishes she hadn't gotten out of the car though. He wishes she wasn't there at all. He wishes he wasn't either, that they could just go back to the peace of this morning or maybe stop existing altogether.

"Besides, you think I give a damn about that, man?" Zay narrows his eyes. "You think I care enough about some stupid petty crime to drive all the way out here after you when you just decided to bounce yet again?"

Lucas blinks, now confused himself. If he's not there to bring him to justice, he doesn't understand why he would possibly have followed him so far out. "I don't—,"

"You have any idea what's like? To get left behind?"

The question feels like a sucker punch. Lucas isn't sure he knows how it feels to be left behind, because he doesn't think he's ever known any different. From the second he was born, his father didn't care. He grew up on the Sundance strip, a pocket town so deep in obscurity it's as though the entire world has moved on without it. He was never smart enough, never talented enough, never important enough to warrant any sort of future other than being stuck in the exact same place. It's why he ran in the first place, and it's the reason he keeps running. To try and catch up, desperate not to fade into irrelevancy.

Lucas doesn't know what it feels like, because he's never been anything but behind.

"Even when you have nothing, it's amazing what you take for granted. Because I guess I always just assumed, you know?" A moment of silence, but it feels like an eternity. Zay clears his throat. "When we spent all that time together, I thought it meant something. When we made all those plans together, I thought they were more than just empty words. You know you have nothing, stuck on strip, but at least I had my best friend. At least I had that."

It hurts to look at him. It hurts far more than falling off the fence at Chubbie's or slowly starving on the side of the road.

"And then I wake up one morning, and it's just… gone." Zay can hardly stand to look at him, clenching his jaw. "You're just _gone_."

"Zay, I—,"

"It's sad, at first. This kind of pathetic confusion, knowing something has been upset but not knowing why. Not understanding how. So you compensate, you problem solve, you go looking for solutions. I rounded up Dylan and Asher, went on a Goddamn search party. Climbed into your window to make sure you weren't just ditching, even after Pappy Joe told me you weren't around. Should've taken the look on his face as a clue, but it's hard to take the hints at that point. It's hard to get out of the denial." He pauses, closing his eyes to collect himself. "Then comes the doubt. Where you question everything you did, searching for the thing you did that made you deserve it. Maybe it was this or that or the other, things that never seemed like a big deal but maybe finally became too much. Like a switch flipped in your brain, and suddenly you couldn't stand it anymore. You couldn't stand me. So you had to get away, without a backwards glance."

He doesn't know how to make him understand. No one ever has. But he can't believe he thinks it had anything to do with him—one of the only redeeming qualities to the place destined to be his lifelong prison. "You weren't—,"

"And then at some point, it becomes anger. Because _fuck_ you for just fucking off." Zay locks eyes with him, huffing out the next few sentences. "Fuck you for deciding that you were better off on your own, and for doing it without consultation. Sure, it's your life, but you didn't even have the decency to ask your best friend? Or bottom line, _tell_ him, like common courtesy?"

Riley is staring at Zay, totally transfixed in some sort of state of fascination and horror. Even from here, Lucas can see the tears glossing her eyes. He's not surprised, given that she's the most empathetic person he's ever met.

"So I hated you. I convinced myself I hated you, for _years_ , because it was so much easier that way. It's easier to say goodbye to a selfish bastard of a friend who left you out to dry than it is to let go of… one of the most important people in your life. Who never even gave you the chance to say goodbye."

He can feel that pain in the back of his throat again. With how much of a rollercoaster the last twenty-four hours have been, he doesn't feel in control of his emotions at all. He doesn't trust himself not to lose it again, although the shock of how everything is hitting him at once acts as a powerful suppressant.

Zay exhales, dipping his head down and taking a moment. Lucas can't remember ever seeing his usually animated friend appear so crushed.

Then, he realizes, he wouldn't know. Because Zay is right—he did walk away. He always hated the way their friendship dissolved in the face of his absence, unable to sustain itself like him and Asher, but he was the one who made the first tear in the foundation.

"So yeah. I guess when I saw you the other day, after so long with nothing, something kind of snapped." Zay shrugs, looking away from him and out towards the open road. "Maybe it's ridiculous, but I had to see this through. I had to get my chance to say everything, or else let it just… fester forever."

Lucas examines him, searching for words but finding none. He shrugs aimlessly. "Why didn't you just forget—?"

"Because I couldn't, man! Don't you get it?" He shakes his head. "Maybe it's easier for you, being the one who got to cut the cord, but I don't roll that way. I can't live with… with the emptiness. Not a clean break, not a painful end. There was no end. There was just… nothing. And I couldn't stop thinking about the nothing."

Zay lets his gaze drift back to him, pieces of that anger lingering in his glare.

"I didn't get to move on. You took it with you when you decided to ghost. You took that from me."

As the astonishment begins to fade, the overwhelming cocktail of emotions taking its place is impossible to swallow. Lucas presses his hands into fists, staring at the ground rather than facing Zay's scrutinizing glare or the Riley's heartbroken expression.

And how telling, he has to think, how even with all of the ramifications of the past raining down on him, still the only thing he wants to do is run away.

"So now that's that. I said what I needed to say, so I guess that counts as closure." Zay waits for him to meet his eyes, shrugging and stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You can go back to pretending none of this is real, existing in whatever fantasy world you've built for yourself. If that's what you need to survive, then I suppose I can't fault you that."

Lucas wants to tell him how sorry he is. He wants to explain all of it—the false hope, the domino effect, the suffocation that was threatening to kill him unless he made his getaway. How he thought about him and Asher and Dylan a thousand times over in the last five years. How none of it had anything to do with him, how he honestly wasn't thinking about anything else when he made his choice except not wanting dread tomorrow for the rest of his life. How maybe that's selfish, but it's the truth.

But none of that comes out instead. What comes out when he opens his mouth is cracked words and half a plea for more time, the rest of the sentiment caught in his throat. "Zay, please—,"

"It's alright. I won't keep you any longer. Need to be getting back on the road home anyway. This trip wasn't exactly Sundance sanctioned." His usual sardonic wit is back, but it feels wrong somehow. Tainted, poisoned with dislike that Lucas himself created. Zay begins walking back towards his cruiser, tossing an apologetic look to Riley. "Sorry about this, ma'am. Hope everything is going well."

Riley clearly has no idea what to say. As far as she knew, it was, until her tragic charity case of a passenger decided to nearly run them off the road. Zay makes it all the way back to his car before he turns around again, locking eyes with her again.

"I won't tell you what to do, seeing as we don't know each other like that. But I would make sure you really know who you decide to let into your car. Especially with him."

Zay's eyes shift from her to Lucas, blinking at him before he turns up his chin just slightly. A gesture of pride that anyone on the strip would recognize, regardless of how subtle it is.

"I thought I did."

The rest goes without saying. Zay pulls open his car door and hesitates, tossing one more glance in his direction.

"Goodbye, Lucas." He lets his gaze linger for a moment longer, then offers his last sentiment to Riley. Already letting him go, like it's the easiest thing in the world even though Lucas knows its not. "Safe travels."

The side of the road feels frozen as they watch the out-of-place Sundance cruiser pull back onto the highway, disappearing from their world just as swiftly as it entered. All that's left is the swirling dust and dirt, that heavy tension, and the sting of a goodbye that he never wanted to have.

Lucas meets Riley's eyes, not certain what he's expecting her to say. Not knowing what to do. She's looking back at him, still trying to figure him out, but in a way that feels markedly worse than before. Because now she's seen the sharp edges for herself, some of the worst, and it's clear she doesn't know what to make of them.

For all he knows, Zay might not be the only goodbye he's going to get.

Then she moves without a word, leaving the passenger door open and heading to the driver's side. Ready to get moving again and confront this somewhere other than the middle of nowhere, with the summer sun beating down on them and the phantom of Zay's accusations haunting them in the silence.

After a long moment, Lucas forces his feet to move. He stumbles back to the hatchback and climbs in the passenger seat, shutting the door behind him and gearing up for the ride ahead.

Knowing that for better or worse, this is how it feels to be left behind.

* * *

Lucas has never minded the quiet, but he hates silence.

The distinction has grown more apparent to him the longer he's been on the road. Quiet is thoughtful, unobtrusive, a safe space where all of the white noise fades and he can finally get the chance to think. Quiet is rare, a phenomenon he thinks he takes for granted more often than he realizes. Silence is the oppressive variation, a force all its own that weighs down and darkens and kicks off that instinct to flee in his muscles. Silence is something he endures, something he survives.

With Riley, there had always been quiet. He had always liked the quiet.

Now, it's hardened to silence. Cold, throttling silence.

Riley drove them down the highway until the confusion and frustration became too much, pulling off about an hour up the coast at the nearest exit. There was no set destination so she pulled off at the first viable option, sliding into a parking spot in a shopping center off the interstate and killing the engine. Officially rendering them frozen, immobile until they confront all of the new complications that have cropped up between them in the last couple of hours.

Lucas doesn't know how long they've been sitting there sinking under the silence. He keeps his gaze trained out the window, staring at the department store towering over them and watching the shoppers coming and going in such a rush for the sake of a distraction. He wonders how it must feel to have somewhere to be, to have a sense of purpose even as small as picking up groceries. Being able to afford them at all is probably the first step.

Predictably, the silence can't last forever. Riley stops chewing her thumbnail and exhales, shifting her gaze from her own window to the steering wheel. "Are you going to tell me what the hell that was back there?"

He doesn't speak. He doesn't look at her. He focuses his attention on his fingers instead, subtly wringing them in his lap. The bad habit he's had since he was a kid throwing up in the trash bin, a compulsion he developed as an alternative. A consistent pattern, reliable against the anxiety of whatever else is looming over him, at least powerful enough to forgo the vomit.

Thumb against his palm. Twist of his fingers. Thumb to the other palm. Over and over again, until the skin is rubbed raw and the nausea subsides.

Riley sighs again. "Unbelievable."

"I don't know what you want me to say," he says dryly, the tremble in his voice betraying him from the first words he lets out. He clears his throat, attempting to shake it off.

"You know, I don't either," she admits. She runs a hand through her ponytail, pressing her palms against the steering wheel and searching for the solution. "The truth? An explanation to one of the thousands of mysteries you keep leaving for me to solve?"

Lucas scoffs, crossing his arms. "I'm not asking you to do that. You're doing that yourself."

"Yeah, because I care about you!" Her tone is incredulous, like she still can't believe they're having this argument. She turns her glare on him, exhaustion creeping into her features. "I _want_ to know you, Lucas. I want to know who you are, but you're not letting me. And how do you think that makes me feel?"

The words stumble out of him without forethought, frantic and unfiltered.

"Well did you ever think that maybe I don't want you to?"

He regrets the statement the instant it leaves his lips and settles in the air between them. Creating more distance than the silence ever could, rebuilding some of those steel walls that Riley spent so much time carefully tearing down. Especially because it's not true—he does want her to know him. She's the first person he's ever wanted to know him, charmed by that natural compassion and so starved for connection that she might as well be a panacea.

The catch is that he doesn't want to give her all of it. He wants the narrative to remain in his control, where he can keep the ugly, broken pieces under wraps and present the pieces of himself that he thinks are most pleasing. She wants the full unabridged version while he is only willing to offer his greatest hits, and that dichotomy was always going to cause friction.

He doesn't have to look at her to know the words hurt, but he does anyway. He can see the impact of it in the subtle way it makes her lip tremble, the way her eyes narrow slightly as if she's going to shield herself from it. Because she can investigate him as much as she desires, but she's right that she won't know the full picture until he deems to give it to her. Something that maybe seemed like a possibility last night and into the brightness of the morning, but is fading like the sunlight as the day ticks away.

Riley shakes her head, looking away from him. She gathers her thoughts, closing her eyes. "I don't know what else I can do. What can I say, or do, that will make you get that I'm not going to judge you?"

"That's bold of you to say considering you don't know everything." He adjusts in his seat, sitting up straighter. "You just watched me get pulled over by some dude willing to chase me thousands of miles just to lay into me, and you're still going to sit there and act like that doesn't matter—,"

"Because it doesn't! Not to me!"

Riley is obviously frustrated. She grits her teeth, pressing her fingers to her temples and letting out a noise somewhere between a whine and a growl before slamming her hands against the steering wheel again. Lucas jumps, surprised by the amount of brusqueness coming from someone so fundamentally gentle.

"When are you going to understand that I don't care about what you did? How am I supposed to get it through your thick skull that I don't care if you stole some scraps or vandalized a cop car or whatever other inane thing?"

His turn to be confused. Combined with the high tension and anxiety still making his palms sweat, it's a treacherous arrangement. "Then _why_ are you so pissed?"

"Because you won't _talk_ to me! You act like you're giving me enough, only to reveal that there's a whole other angle that you're refusing to let me in on." Trapped in the confines of the hatchback with no blurring road passing them by to focus on, the way they're raising their voices and how claustrophobic the space is becoming is hard to ignore. It makes him feel on edge, and not in a good way. "And I can't keep doing that, Lucas. I can't keep giving you everything and wanting to share everything with you if it's constantly going to come back to bite me."

He feels like he's splitting at the seams. Half of him is desperate to give in, to search for the security he knows exits between the two of them and tell her everything. Lay it all out on the line, be as vulnerable and terrifyingly open as she wants him to be, because he knows she's right when she claims that she's given him so much and he's hardly returned the favor. He's been guilty over how much he's consuming her charity since the moment he climbed into her passenger seat, and yet he continues to leave her hanging. He completely gets her frustration, and he wants to be the solution to it. He wants to let her in, believing that it won't ruin anything, and allow things to change for the better.

But then the other half of him is desperate to keep fighting. Feral, defensive, already searching for exits that he's considered a thousand times. The part of him who knew this was doomed from the start, that always knew he was going to screw everything up and inevitably take her down with him. The half that is pumping adrenaline into his veins, making the car feel absolutely suffocating, causing his hands to shake so much he clenches them into fists because he doesn't trust them to do anything else.

"So could you just… _stop_ being so stubborn for one second? Could you do that and just consider the possibility that letting me in might not be such a bad thing?" Riley huffs. "Maybe you could realize that I might actually understand—?"

"Understand? Understand?" Lucas snaps, feeling anger burn the back of his throat. He turns his incredulous glare on her, voice laced raw with resentment. "You have _everything_!"

Even with all they've already said and all the things he could've instead, somehow Lucas knows this was the worst. He can see it in the ways her expression shifts, first dazed with shock and then deflating as if all of the light has been zapped out of her. Even though her eyes are glossed over with tears the rest of her seems to fold in on itself, building her own walls back up in moments.

As she retreats into herself, Lucas finds his anger receding faster than ever. As soon as the words hit and left their mark he felt it drain out of him, leaving nothing but cold sweat and regret tightening the muscles in his chest.

He wants to apologize, but he doesn't know. He doesn't think he can. Not after that.

"You're right," Riley says softly, adjusting away from him and facing back out towards the dashboard window. She takes a deep breath, rubbing her palms absentmindedly on her knees before shaking her head. "You're right, we should just… sorry I brought it up. I don't know what I was thinking."

Lucas knew this would be the end of them. That at some point, the differences in their mere experience of life was going to be deep enough to form a cavern between them, one that they can't navigate no matter how much compassion or charity they put behind it. Riley wants to understand him, but the fact is there's no way she can. She's never understood what it's like to come from nothing, to scrape by day-to-day and make poor decisions because you may not survive to tomorrow if you don't. And he doesn't want her to. He doesn't want her to ever understand that way of life.

Then, in reality, he knows he's wrong. She may not understand what he's going through, not the explicit details, but he knows she's got stuff of her own. He knows because she was generous enough to tell him, to give him enough hints and moments of vulnerability without making him feel like he was being strung along or being an unsolvable puzzle. He knew that, he knew it, and he still threw it right back in her face. He pushed her away, made her hide away, and invalidated those experiences in one foul swoop.

He should've seen this coming. The ending where the final blow isn't their fundamentally different views of the world but his inability to function in it, bristling when he's offered even the bare minimum of help and lashing out when he feels trapped because he's never known anything else. Of course it would be him bringing everything crumbling to rubble, saying something he can't take back and hurting her despite how it was the one thing he never, ever wanted to do. Her comfort had become his priority, and somehow he managed to ruin that too.

Gazing at Riley, unable to look at him and so worn down, Lucas decides he isn't going to do it anymore. He's not going to hurt her or take advantage of her ever again.

"I'm just going to go," he croaks, unbuckling his seatbelt and sitting up in his seat. For how much time he's spent in it, the sensation of leaving without her almost feels against his nature. "I'm going to—I've done enough."

Her head snaps up to face him, eyes wide. "What?"

"You've given me more than enough, like you said. I think you've more than done your due diligence here."

She's speechless. She just stares at him, mouth parted open as he gathers his backpack together and picks it up off the floor. He puts his hand on the door handle and then hesitates, deciding he better do something to pay her back before he storms off without offering anything else.

He digs in his pocket, wincing at the feeling of Asher's napkin under his fingertips before he pulls out a few crumbled up dollar bills. He lifts them up indicatively, briefly locking eyes with her and raising his eyebrows. "I know that won't cover it. But at least it's something."

Lucas drops it on the median between them, pushing the door open and starting to lean out. He freezes when he feels her hand on his, gripping his fingers tightly as they drift away from the cash.

Her voice cracks. "Lucas…"

He can't look at her. He doesn't want to see the expression on her face, the disappointment he's so familiar with at this point he fully believes he wasn't meant to be seen any other way. Instead he screws his eyes shut, memorizing the feeling of her fingers wrapped around his and trying not to let the pain in his throat manifest into anything known.

Then, as he's so well-trained to do, he lets go. He pulls away from her and tumbles out onto the concrete of the parking lot, closing the door behind him before he has the chance to change his mind.

Lucas doesn't look back. He doesn't look back, marching his way through the maze of cars with no sense of direction but away. Somewhere in the midst of it his muscle memory takes over, and then he's running. Running until the world is a blur again, until it's the only thing he can focus on. Shoes pounding the pavement, air painful in his lungs, ignoring the salty sting of tears on his face as he falls back into the only real existence he's ever known.

All these miles, all these experiences, and still just another day on the road. Another desperate escape.

Another Sundance nothing, belonging nowhere.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well... yeah. Huh. I don't know about y'all, but I'm exhausted.

A little note about the next couple of chapters - we're going to be doing a bit of an "intermission" and going back to get some backstory on where Riley and Lucas both came from to get to this point of them meeting on the road. So if you're ready to punch me because of how many questions you have about either of them and their personal histories, stress no further. Soon many questions will hopefully be answered!

Okay, carry on, cowgirls and cowboys. Yeehaw!


End file.
